


Shadow Broker

by Xazz



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Chicago - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Police, Serial Killers, mafia, mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/Xazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1925, Chicago, there's a killer on the loose and the Chicago PD is powerless to catch them so they call in Detective S, a detective from L.A. who's yet to lose a criminal. But for Malik this might be the one that got away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Windy City

This city was a far cry from the one Malik had left a few days ago. Chicago was windy and chill from Lake Michigan, nothing like Los Angeles which was warm even in winter. But he was here now and here he'd stay for a while, until the case was done. He'd been called up here on a favor for the commissioner. Malik had been called because he was good, one of the best actually. He let other people call him the best though, he never claimed that himself. After seeing the things Malik had seen he'd never claim to be brave or the best ever again. War changed a man, people didn't get that usually though.

There was an officer waiting for him when he got off the train, putting on his hat as he walked, his coat already on. It was cooler here than he liked, though the officer didn't seem to notice. Steam from the train billowed under the platform as Malik neared him. They looked around, probably for him and he went right up to them.

"Are you Detective Sayf?" they asked, accent thick and colloquial.

"I am," he nodded. "I've got a bag on the train," he added.

"Of course," and the officer couldn't stop staring. Malik thought nothing of it, used to it now. Even in Los Angeles a brown skinned detective wasn't every day. Here it was a down right impossible, not in this place, and never this far north. He'd just been lucky, right place, right time, with the right know how and an understanding chief in his station who wasn't afraid to have a brown man as a detective. He'd heard every slur and slander and was used to being stared at. The officer jerked his eyes away and cupped his mouth with his hand facing to their side, "Benny! The detective's got a bag. Get it," and Benny, a big man in a dark officer uniform went towards the baggage car. "I'm officer Gerald Hopper," he held out his hand.

"Officer," Malik nodded and shook his hand "You'll be taking me to meet the commissioner?"

"Yessir," he said and was doing how honest best to not stare at Malik and his different features.

"Good," Malik said, ignoring the look. Then officer Hopper led him away from the platform and out of the station to a car at the sidewalk.

Chicago wasn't a city at all like Los Angeles. It was older and colder and much more compact. The styles here were also different, though not much. In California people wore clothes for heat and while they did wear pants knickers were becoming amazingly popular and the flapper dresses were getting higher and higher. Sometimes he saw them almost high enough to break modesty.

Malik always kept his eyes up, straight ahead. His time in the army had taught him that. Keep your eyes forward and what you needed to be looking at, and not on things you shouldn't be looking at. Looking elsewhere while in the trenches you could miss something, the Germans could be running for you, or they might be calling a retreat. Eyes on what you needed to see, and that didn't include gams, no matter how pretty or soft they were.

They arrived to the station as clouds were gathering on the horizon over Lake Michigan. They parked and Malik got out himself onto the sidewalk, officer Hopper jumping out of his side after almost getting hit by a top down car driven by teenagers.

"Just this way sir," he said. "The city is putting you up in a place, Benny'll take your bag there for you," officer said helpfully.

"Great," Malik said stoically. Hopper showed him inside and past the bustling front room full of mostly petty thieves. He was led up two flights of stairs to a series of offices. The commissioner had a big office on a corner with windows.

The officer knocked and when the commissioner said to come in her opened the door. "Sir, the detective from Los Angeles is here," he said.

"Great, send him in." Hopper backed out and ushered Malik in and closed the door behind him. The commissioner was half way standing when he saw Malik. "Where's detective S?" he asked, confused.

Malik looked behind him, there was just him. "That's me," Malik said, "Malik al-Sayf, detective with the LAPD," he held out his hand. "You're commissioner Robert?"

"Yes I am," and he shook Malik's hand. Robert was massive with a huge chest and a bald head, with scars on it. His suit was sharp though, the shoulders still wide, unlike Malik who had "Richard didn't tell me you were a…" the slur was on his tongue but he stopped himself, "weren't white," he said.

"There's a reason they call me S, instead," he shrugged. After the army he didn't hear rude slurs anymore. He'd heard them all and then some. He'd been called every middle eastern slur and brown slur and black slur. It was all water on the duck's back.

"Right, well… I'm sure you'll handle yourself," Robert said.

"I can," he agreed.

Suddenly the door was shoved open. "Sir-

"Damnit Sibrand I'm busy with our new detective," Robert spat at the blonde man who was in a police uniform but he had a lieutenant's markings.

"Sorry, sir," sergeant Sibrand said, "but another one just showed up. He's more than a little angry too," Sibrand had an accent, but not from Chicago, he sounded like he was from New York, or Detroit, Malik couldn't tell, they all sort of sounded the same to him.

"Another one? Damn it all. Well," he turned to Malik, "this is what we sent you for. Lieutenant Sibrand, this is our newest detective from Los Angeles, he's going to be on point with this case. You find out what he needs and you get it, I don't care what it is or what he's got to say; you do it."

"You got it, sir," Sibrand nodded.

"Good. Sorry we can't stay and chat detective, but I'm sure you're itching to get started."

"I came here to work, sir," Malik said.

"Good. Go with Sibrand. He'll get you everything you need. Make sure you tell him."

"Thank you, sir," Malik said and then turned from the commissioner and followed Sibrand out of the office.

"Uh, just follow me," Sibrand said and unlike Robert was staring at him openly. Malik just blinked at him, undisturbed, and then Sibrand turned on his heel and walking quickly. Malik kept pace with him and they went downstairs and out the front door and around the side to Sibrand's car. Malik watched the city as they drove, letting Sibrand talk and just soaking in this new city.

—

The crime scene was already contained when they got there. Malik stepped out of the car, the clouds boiling over head, sweeping into the city from Lake Michigan. The officers standing guard let him and Sibrand through. The murder had happened in an old pub that now only sold food. As Malik walked over the thresh hold he tapped the toes of his shoes on the floor as if to dislodge dirt from them and be respectful. It also told him that under the floor was a big, hollow space. He didn't think for a second there wasn't a speakeasy under this floor. Good to know, he was going to need a drink later.

The deceased was in one of the booths, sitting at a plate of food and what looked like wine but when Malik sniffed it was actually juice. He was a well dressed man with his hat on the table in easy reach and his cutlery was still in his hands. Everything about the scene was fine and it looked like the man was about to continue eating his steak and potatoes save for the fact that someone had stabbed him in the throat and blood spilled down his front, staining his fine shirt and waist coat red and brown. Whoever had killed him knew what they were doing as it was one swift incision on the throat that seemed to have not only cut into his trachea but also more than clipped the jugular and Malik was sure had also entered the facial cavity from the amount of blood.

Malik stood on the other side of the table of the deceased, hands in the pockets of his coat, face expressionless. Sibrand stood next to him, clearly disgusted.

"And they're all like this?" Malik asked.

Sibrand started at Malik's words after a long silence. "Yes, sir," he said. This was why Malik was brought here after all, to catch whoever was killing these people. They were killed by the same people, same method of death. Malik had seen pictures, but the black and white didn't do the real gore justice.

"Who's this?" Malik asked.

"We're trying to figure it out now," Sibrand said.

Malik nodded slowly and finally took his hands out of his pockets and tugged off his hat. "Okay," he said, playing with the brim as he spoke. "I'm going to need some things."

"You just tell me, sir, I'll get them for you," Sibrand said eagerly.

"I need to know  _who_  this is. I need the case files for all the previous murders. Any lists of suspects. A list of who was here in this room at the time of the murder. The autopsy reports for all the murders including this one. A catalog of knives. And a kriminalist," Malik said, flicking the brim of his hat with his middle finger.

"A kriminalist?" Sibrand asked, confused.

"Yeah, a kriminalist," Malik said. He had one back home. A sharp kid named Ezio from old money back east trying to make it on his own. After the commissioner opened the first crime lab Malik had capitalized on it and unlike several other detectives or officers, who didn't see the point of it, Malik saw the help it could really be to the force. He and Ezio were pretty much thick as thieves and where others didn't use what Ezio knew and was quickly learning Malik was always giving him things to do. Even after just a year Malik couldn't even imagine what his life would be like without a kriminalist to back him up. It just made his job  _so_  much easier.

"Uh…" Sibrand clearly didn't know what a kriminalist was.

"It's someone who comes onto a crime scene and picks up data, helping us track who did it and find the killer faster," Malik said.

"Never heard of one, sir," he admitted. "I don't even know where to get one."

"Try a college," Malik said.

"Okay," Sibrand nodded slowly. "Is that all?"

Malik thought a moment, "And some bourbon."

Sibrand blinked at him, "You realize it's still the prohibition, right, sir?"

"Kid," and really Sibrand was younger than him, in his mid or late twenties at much, "I fought in the War. Do you actually think I care what some politicians in suits think about my right to drink?" and then he tapped the toe of his shoe on the ground again. The floor was distinctively hollow. By the look on Sibrand's face he knew quite well what was under there, "I like it straight," and Sibrand didn't tell him no.

—

Sibrand had set Malik up with the bio-science department head of the Northeastern Illinois University. Malik didn't even know what bio-science  _was_ , but apparently he could get in touch with a kriminalist through him, or something like them. It had taken a week, in which time Malik had read through all the case files and was seriously considering sending a telegram back home and asking for Ezio to be sent along. But he didn't have to resort to that thankfully.

Professor Forman was a nice man. White, a bit portly, slowly going bald, wore a patterned bow tie and still sore suspenders, which were rapidly going out of fashion. He smiled when he saw Malik and stood up to shake his hand. Malik appreciated not being looked at strangely by the man.

"So Detective Sayf-

"Malik is fine, sir," Malik said. He was used to people not saying his last name right, but that didn't mean it was any less annoying.

"Malik," Professor Forman nodded. "The lieutenant told me you were looking for a kriminalist?"

"That's the hope, yes," Malik nodded.

"Well, I have to tell you we don't really… have a field for that here," Malik frowned slightly, "But, you're in luck."

"I am?" he asked carefully.

"Yes. There's a young man in one of my classes, brilliant boy, bit odd, but very helpful. He's studying abroad here this year from the University of Lausanne."

Malik had to ask, "And where  _is_  the University of Lausanne?"

"Switzerland," Professor Forman smiled at him. "The university houses the School of Police Science, of which he is a student of," and Malik momentarily thought of having to deal with some Swede and a language barrier was just going to be annoying. "I set up a meeting for the two of you. He was very excited to know that you were interested in his field."

"Oh, thank you," Malik said though wasn't feeling  _nearly_  as excited. "So, where is it?"

Professor looked at the clock, "He should be there now," he said. "There's a classroom, just down the hall. He's very punctual," professor Forman was smiling still.

Malik repressed a groan. This was the best it was going to be it seemed. He might just have to suck it up. "Okay," Malik nodded, "Thank you professor," and he shook the older man's hand.

"Of course Malik, let me know if there's anything else you need."

"I will," Malik nodded. Not. He rolled his eyes as he left the office and went to the classroom, which was actually a lecture hall. It was empty save for a young man sitting on the teacher's desk, his back to Malik, feet on a chair, reading a book. "Excuse me," Malik called, "I'm looking for a Swede."

The student twisted, "I'm not a Swede," he said. And no. No he was  _not_. He was an Arab and Malik was actually surprised. He hadn't been expecting  _that_. "Are you Detective Malik al-Sayf?" and he had a strange accent, not quite Arabic, not quite Swiss and yet not one from Chicago either, but distinct and colored the English obviously. Malik liked it regardless. He especially liked the way he said his name, properly.

"Yes, I am," Malik said, walking over to him.

"Professor Forman didn't tell you anything about me did he?" the kid asked. He wore a brown leather jacket over a pair of slacks and a simple white shirt, a white scarf was folded up next to him. He put his book on his scarf, it was some medical journal.

"No," Malik agreed. The kid had fine features, like he was still filling out his cheek bones and jaw, and his eyes were the strangest color. They looked the color of butterscotch.

"I'm Altair," he said and held out his hand. "Altair ibn-Umar ibn-La'Ahad."

Malik smiled slightly, he could like this. "That's quite a mouthful," Malik said.

"Yeah, so the Americans tell me," Altair sighed, but also smiled.

"Where're you from? Not from Switzerland obviously."

"No, I just go to school there," Altair agreed, "I'm from Syria. I got a full tuition for Lausanna though. I'm spending a year here to study bio-science."

"What  _is_  bio-science?" Malik asked.

"Like medicine, only not. I'm sure the name'll change eventually, it's terribly confusing," Altair rolled his eyes. "It's the study of the body, but not for healing purposes. Morticians would fall under bio-science."

"Ah," and then he eyed Altair a moment, "you've a good grasp on English."

"My  _omy's_  American," he explained with a shrug. " _I could speak Arabic if you wanted,_ " and Malik smiled.

" _Haven't used this in a while. Forgive me if I sound awful,_ " Malik said.

" _I don't think you sound awful_ ," Altair said.

_"How old are you anyway? You look like you should still be in high school."_

Altair laughed, _"I'm nineteen, thanks."_

Malik stared at him a moment,  _"I feel very old,"_  he said.

_"What? Why?"_

_"I forget that there are people who were born after the nineteenth century,"_  he sighed.

 _"Oh… You don't look that old,"_  Altair was quick to say. " _I would never have thought-_

Malik waved him away, " _It's fine. I'm not some delicate lady who needs to be pampered about her age. Now, business."_

 _"Right,"_  and Altair turned even  _more_  attentive, how that was possibly Malik didn't even know. He liked this kid though, he could get a conversation out of Malik, which was saying something since Malik didn't talk much really, not unless he had something to say, and hated small talk. Maybe it was the use of his mother tongue, or the fact that Altair sort of reminded him of a young him, bright eyed and untouched by the horrors of War. Boys like Altair would never have to know about those sorts of horrors, see their friends gunned down by German soldiers. The War was over and there would never be one as bloody and gruesome as it again. Thank God.

 _"So you're going to school to be a kriminalist?_ " Altair nodded,  _"So you know about procedures and things like that?"_  more nodding,  _"Okay. Well, have you heard of the recent murders?"_  and Altair's eyes went suddenly bright and then back to normal. He smiled as he nodded. Malik wrote it off.  _"I have a kriminalist back home in L.A. he usually helps me but, obviously, he's not here. I'm looking for someone to help me with this murder spree."_

 _"I'd be honored,"_  Altair said.

_"I don't have a lab for you-_

_"I can use the one here at school,"_  Altair was quick to alleviate his worry. _"I mean, it'll do,"_  he added.

 _"Okay,"_  Malik nodded.  _"I'll have to talk with the commissioner about letting you see the case files. Can you come down to the station?"_

 _"Yes,"_  Altair nodded eagerly. This kid was seriously something else. But not in a bad way he supposed.  _"When do you want me to stop by?"_

_"Tomorrow probably. I've already reviewed the case files. Come by and I'll get you up to speed on what's going on if Robert says so."_

_"If not?"_

_"Well, I guess we'll just… work around that,"_  Malik wasn't above just ignoring Robert. He'd been brought on specifically for this case and if the commissioner was going to make his life difficult than he'd make it difficult right back.

 _"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then,"_  and Altair slid off the table grabbing his book and scarf.  _"Nice meeting you Malik."_

 _"Likewise,"_ and they shook hands again.

—

After getting the all clear from the commissioner Altair was officially on board. Malik had all the case files back in his hotel room, so that's where they ended up. Altair sat perched on one of the arm chairs as Malik took the files from a safe and put them on the coffee table. "Here they are," Malik said.

"Great," Altair took the top one.

"You can read them all you want here, make notes if you want, but you can't take them with you," Malik said.

"Sure," and Altair dug into his knapsack and pulled out a ruled notebook and a pencil as he flipped open the first file on his thighs. "Can I see any of the bodies?" he asked, looking at Malik with his strange colored eyes.

"No, sorry," Malik frowned. "Hate to say it but you'll have to wait for a new one to show up."

"I see," Altair said, looking back down at the papers. "When was the oldest murder?"

"That we know are linked? I'd say from last August. The pattern's pretty regular honestly."

"It is?" Altair glanced up at him.

"Yeah. About every six weeks another body shows up, just like this one." It was March now, there were six of these bodies, all with the same stab wounds, one through the neck and up into the head, cutting into the trachea, the right jugular, and clipping the spin. The person doing the killing was also probably left handed, to be able to cut the right jugular. They were also strong, since none of the men they'd killed were small, and even through the jugular they'd have to hold them still long enough to bleed them out enough to kill them.

"Hmm," Altair said, "Any connections between them? List of suspects?"

"Not that I can see, and yes, they're in the files. Suspects are all different on all the murders."

"Well that's helpful," Altair said, he was taking notes in his notebook unerringly. They sat in silence after that, Altair making notes, and sometimes chewing on the end of his pencil, Malik sat in the other chair quietly. He liked quiet, it made thinking easier. Then Altair closed the file and picked up a new one, and then two more and flipped them open. "Found your connection," he said.

"Huh?"

"How they're all connected. They're part of the Chicago Outfit."

"… They're mobsters?" that was news to Malik.

"Yeah. You didn't know?" Altair asked, looking at him.

"I've been here literally a week," was really his only excuse.

"The police didn't tell you?"

"No… they didn't," Malik said slowly. "Are you okay to stay here for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"I need to go rip open the police commissioner for putting me on mobster murders and not telling me," he growled and got to his feet. He missed the look in Altair's eyes as he left.

—

Robert saw him immediately. He was smoking a cigarette when Malik walked in. "You have something to say to me?" he asked, not even bothering with pretending to be pleasant. He didn't deal with mobsters. He just _didn't_. He had a few rules when it came to who and what he did on the force, and one of them was that he didn't work for the mob, or people who were in the mob's pocket. He didn't investigate mob murders or crimes either. That wasn't what he wanted anything to do with.

He'd joined the force after the War to  _help_  people. Not mob people, but normal people. People who had nothing and needed a clean cop who wouldn't fall into the mob's pocket or any of the gangs in L.A. Richard knew this and specifically didn't give him cases related to gangs because unless they were special circumstances Malik wouldn't take them. He just would refuse them, and Malik was too good at his job for Richard to ignore his whims.

"Excuse me?" Robert asked, raising a brow at him.

"These murders," Malik scowled at him.

"What about them?"

"Their part of the Chicago Outfit."

"Oh," Robert said slowly. Clearly Richard had told Robert about his stance on investigating criminal murders. He'd chosen to ignore it apparently.

"Give me a reason not to pack my bag and get on a train back to L.A. right now," Malik growled.

"We need you here," Robert said and put out his cigarette. "We've been on this case for months, and have _nothing_. Richard  _assured_   _me_  you'd be able to crack it. And that you didn't take gang related cases-

"Which you chose to ignore," Malik wasn't happy in the slightest.

"It was that or let some lunatic go around killing innocent people."

Malik nearly  _lost it_. Instead his jaw just clenched so hard his teeth hurt. Innocent?  _Innocent?!_  His brother had been  _innocent_ , but that hadn't stopped L.A. gangs from shooting up the shop front he'd been in with tommy guns killing him and four other people, but not the man they  _had_  been shooting at. Malik had been  _innocent_ before he signed up to be sent to Europe to fight the Germans and put on the front as an expendable colored person and see horrors no man should have to see. The girl who'd been raped and killed by L.A. gangs had been _innocent_  and Malik had put her killer behind bars. The man who was being bullied by the mob and had his son killed by them as a warning had been  _innocent_. Malik could keep going in his head and every case he'd ever worked was littered with innocents caught in the crossfire of gangs and the mob. He  _didn't work mob murders,_ because  _none_  of them were innocent.

"No," Malik said.

"What?"

" _No_ ," and then he walked towards the door. "I'm getting on a train tomorrow morning," and walked out.

"Detective!" Robert called and went after him. "Detective," he grabbed Malik's arm. "We need you," he said.

"My precent needs me too commissioner," Malik said, yanking his arm back. "I don't work mob murders. Especially not for guys like Capone," he practically spat the name out.

"What can I do to convince you?"

"Nothing. I'm going to phone L.A. tonight, tell Richard I'm coming home."

"I could order you to stay."

"I'm only here by request," Malik reminded him, "You don't own my badge or my time. I'll bring the case files back before I leave. Good day commissioner," and then he walked out.

—

He opened the hotel door. Altair was where he'd left him going over files. "Pack it up," Malik announced.

"What?" Altair looked up, confused.

"Pack it up. I'm off the case, and so are you."

Altair stared at him, "Why?"

"Because I don't do mob cases," Malik growled. "So pack it up."

"You don't do mob kills?"

"No. I'm leaving in the morning and need to have this stuff back at the station by then," he grabbed the file in Altair's lap and put it back on the table with the rest of the stack and gathered them up. "Sorry for inconveniencing you," he added as he went to the safe.

"It's… no trouble," Altair said as Malik put the files in the safe and closed it. "I just wanted to be useful," he frowned and when Malik looked he actually looked a bit upset.

"Sorry about that," Malik told him. "I didn't mean to get your hopes up."

"No. It's okay. I let myself get them up," he sighed. "Anything that would make you stay?"

"Unless this case suddenly turned into a civilian matter I don't see much hope for me sticking around."

"So… what? If some mac got popped you'd stay and figure it out?"

"Long and short of it, yeah," Malik nodded. "It's just how I work. I refuse to help the mob," and Altair's eyes brightened a little.

"You seem pretty upset about the entire thing. Bad experience?" he ventured.

"My brother got caught between two warring gangs. He's dead now because of it."

"Oh… I'm sorry," Altair looked like he hadn't brought it up.

"Was a long time ago," Malik said. "I've mostly gotten over it," he had too. Kadar had died over ten years ago. Malik had seen a lot more death since then, it helped him deal with the fact honestly.

"Still, that's awful. But it explains why you only work in that area."

"Yeah," Malik nodded, "Thanks for stopping by," he added.

Altair's mouth became thin a moment then he stood up, "Sorry I couldn't be more help," he apologized. "Nice meeting you," and he shook Malik's hand.

"Same," and he walked Altair to the door and showed the kid out. Once the door was closed Malik turned back to the hotel room smiled in a helpless sort of way only now having noticed Altair had ordered room service.

That little shit.

—

Malik groaned. Someone needed to stop that banging. Right now, before he killed someone. It was early, the alarm clock hadn't gone off yet, and his train didn't leave until ten thirty. Too early. Too loud, and he was regretting finding that speakeasy and enjoying some bourbon that was definitely too expensive. Too much of a good thing was a bad thing apparently.

The banging continued. He rolled out of bed, rubbing his face and pulling on a shirt as he stumbled to the door. He didn't care, if someone was going to wake him up at- he checked the clock quickly, seven am, they were going to have to deal with him still mostly undressed. He opened the door to officer Hopper, who looked surprised to see him like he was. "Detective," he said.

"What is it officer?" he groaned.

"There's been a murder."

"Don't care, I don't work on behalf of the mob," and he made to close the door.

"The person who was murdered was a twenty year old kid," and Malik paused. Twenty year old kid. For some ludicrous moment he thought of Altair. He hadn't known the kid long, but if something had happened. "Same method as the others. It's the same guy."

Malik looked at him, "Give me a minute, I need to get dressed," he said and closed the door.

—

The crime scene was a mess. There were several police cars there and the body had apparently been left on the sidewalk, which was different. All the other bodies had been positioned upright, usually in pubs or restaurants, eating. Apparently one had been in a speakeasy, and they'd dragged the body out back before calling it in. This didn't fit the normal pattern, but it was something, and the person (as far as Malik knew) was just some mac with no mob ties.

The poor guy was spread eagle on the ground and as per Malik's request to any new bodies found, hadn't been moved, or touched in any way, and the area around it as well. He pulled on a pair of gloves before gently inspecting it, crouched next to the guy. They were around twenty, probably a college student, wore a buttoned shirt and slacks, and were pale with golden hair. It wasn't Altair. It made Malik glad. He tipped the head back and saw the puncture wound, that had led to a massive puddle of blood under them. It was exactly the same as the others.

"Someone go to the Northeastern University," Malik said, looking over his shoulder.

"Why?" Hopper asked.

"I need something there."

"What?"

"A bio-science student named Altair," and he stood up. He was officially on a job, which meant two things. One, this would get solved as soon as possible, and other other came in the form of a small, brass, case. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a match up against his mouth. He only smoked when he was on a case, helped him think, and made people go away if they saw him busily smoking. "Tell him to bring his kit," he said as he exhaled.


	2. Dead Men Tell No Tales

A new cop car pulled up to the curb and out of the passenger side stepped Altair. He looked ridiculously out of place in his leather jacket and an out of place looking pants that looked like they belonged on a construction worker and not a college student. He had a tackle box with him as he looked over the scene, his funny butterscotch eyes wide like a deer in front of a pair of headlights, absorbing it.

Then he bounded forward after catching sight of Malik, an officer called after him as he slid between the two of them but Malik waved them off. “Hi,” Altair said, “never thought I’d see you again,” and he looked very hard like he was repressing a smile. What had professor Forman said? He was a strange kid? That was for sure.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” Malik wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, “Lets get to work.”

“Right,” Altair shifted gears abruptly, becoming somber and held back. “Who’s our John?” he asked as he went to the body and crouched, putting his tackle box next to him and opening it.

Malik took out the kid’s wallet from his coat pocket and pulled out the college I.D. which he’d looked at several times now, “Anthony White. Student at Chicago State. He’s a third year,” and Malik put it and the wallet away, pulling out his cigarette case again.

“Anything else that’s interesting?” Altair asked, looking at Anthony’s hands with his own sheathed in skin tight, black, leather, gloves. Ezio wore similar ones at crime scenes, to not contaminate the body or the area with his finger prints. Though that was in L.A. there were no fingerprint databases here in Chicago. It was a good practice though, seemed Altair’s school taught him a thing or two.

“Not really,” Malik admitted and lit a cigarette. “It’s a lot like the others except that unlike them Anthony has no criminal ties,” he’d been sure to check.

“Hmmm,” Altair put Anthony’s hand down and opened his mouth briefly, “Well he has marks on his hands. He fought off his attacker, or tried to. Also didn’t you say the normal pattern was six weeks between kills?” he looked up at Malik.

“Yeah,” Malik agreed exhaling smoke.

“This was what? Little over a week?”

“Something like that,” Malik frowned and sucked on the cigarette. “It’s out of pattern. Maybe it was a mistake.”

“This guy make mistakes?” Altair looked back at the body.

“Dunno, second time I’ve seen his work. Maybe it was a botch job. The others were professional, cold. This was like he did it in a hurry, wasn’t planned like the others.”

“You can tell all that from just looking at a body?” Altair was both impressed and… hesitant?

“Been doing this nearly ten years,” Malik said and tugged on his cigarette.

“Since the War ended?” Altair asked in a careful tone.

“The same,” and then coughed a little as he tried to talk and breathe smoke at the same time. The smoke cloud dissipated quickly. “You learn how to look.”

“There any suspects?”

“No. Body was found early this morning, abandoned. Doesn’t fit the pattern either,” Malik frowned, hand holding his cigarette up to his mouth, his eyes watched the smoke trickle up from the tip. Nothing about this kill fit the description except for the execution. Wrong time, as the others were during the day, they also weren’t in restaurants like the others and Anthony was just… left here.

“Copy cat?” Altair suddenly asked, taking a saliva sample. Malik had heard of some new saliva tests you could run, but Ezio hadn’t used them.

“Hmm?” Malik had only been half paying attention.

“Could be a copy cat. Saw the murders in the papers and decided to do it themselves.”

“No,” Malik said taking a drag.

“No?”

“We haven’t released any information about  _how_  they were murdered. No, this guy’s good, there’s only one stab wound. He knows what he’s doing and doesn’t make mistakes. Except…”

“Except?” Altair looked up at him.

Malik wasn’t looking at him, but at something he’d missed before because he’d been waiting for Altair. “You see that?” he pointed at a blotch on the ground, close to the building.

Altair unfolded from where he was and went to look at it. “Foot print,” Altair said, looking back at him. “Blood print,” he added.

Malik went over him and looked beyond it as Altair went to get something from his tackle box. He saw another of the prints  a few feet away. “Another,” he called to Altair who nodded and marked out the boot print before going over to the one next to Malik. Malik went to see if he could find more. He flicked his cigarette away as he found a trail of them, going down an alley, and then they stopped, facing a wall. Malik looked up, there was no windows on the first floor but they started at the second floor. Altair was putting something by each print before getting to the last one.

“This can’t be it,” Altair said and looked around for more.

“He just vanished,” Malik said with a frown.

“Blood could have dried,” Altair pointed out, “it dries out faster than water and really doesn’t leave as much residue as you’d think.”

“But look,” Malik said, “he comes around from across the alley and then they stop here. Not to mention look how far apart they are.”

“Sprinting?” Altair asked, he had his notebook out and was taking notes in it, “would explain the lengthen stride.”

“Probably,” Malik agreed. “But still, where’d he go? And why was he running for this wall?”

“Maybe he saw he had blood on his shoes and was zigzagging?” Altair suggested.

“Maybe,” and looked up where a fat drop of water landed on the brim of his hat. “Shit. You have some stuff?”

“Yeah, most of it,” and Altair was still writing. “… Could I see the body when it goes to the mortician?” he asked.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Malik said and more rain was starting to fall. “Lets get out of here,” Malik said and propelled Altair out of the alley. “Officer,” he called, “lend me your car.” The man looked reluctant to do so but handed Malik his keys as Altair went to get his things. “Get the body to the mortician, clean up. We’re done here,” and they nodded as the rain continued. Not hard, but a miserable drizzle. Altair bounced back over to him, “Get in,” and he opened the door to the car they were using. Altair slid into the passenger side. He heard someone calling for a clean up as he got into the driver’s seat.

“Well,” Altair said, looking at him. His case in his lap, “what do you think?”

“It’s different but I think that-

“No, I mean. Was I okay?”

Malik snorted as he pulled away from the crime scene, “Kid, you were fine,” and Altair smiled at him brightly.

—

The city’s main mortician worked primarily at an upscale funeral home. He was a robust man about Malik’s age with flame red hair and looked like he enjoyed dressing nice under his thick apron to keep all manner of guts and fluids off him during the embalming process. Malik had met him once, for the last murder, and decided he liked the man.

“That’s a bloody kid,” the mortician, Shaun, said upon seeing Altair when Malik brought him to see the body, Shaun was also disturbingly English for a guy who’d mostly grown up in Chicago. Perhaps not the best thing to hear upon opening the front door but Malik was heard worse. “Detective, what are you bringing a kid to a funeral home for?”

Malik sighed a little, “This is Altair, my kriminalist.”

“Kriminalist? He looks like he should still be sucking on his mum’s tits,” Malik looked at Altair and the college kid was blushing.

“Shaun,” Malik said patiently, “we’re here to see the body.”

“He’s still a kid,” Shaun said. “You sure some lad is ready to see this sort of thing? It isn’t for the faint of heart after all,” he said seriously.

“I can handle it,” Altair said firmly.

Shaun looked at Altair, looked at Malik, and then looked back at Altair before saying, “If you say so,” and then he turned around and walked off. Altair gave a wary look at Malik who just tried to smile reassuringly at him before following Shaun, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack just inside along with his hat. Altair did the same with his jacket before having to quickly catch up with Malik and Shaun.

They were led downstairs to where the cadavers were kept, Shaun flicking on the lights as he went. It didn’t really register to Malik. He’d been in places plenty of times, but Altair was wide eyed. “Now,” Shaun said and ran a hand through his red hair, pushing it back and out of his face, “if you’re going to ralph, kindly do it in a bin and not on my floor. If you do you’re the one cleaning it up,” he informed Altair.

“ _Ralph_?” Altair asked.

“Vomit,” Malik shrugged. Altair just looked at them both like they were slightly nuts. “So, lets see him,” Malik added to Shaun.

“Right, right,” and Shaun turned to the lined up cadavers and inspected the tags on their feet. “Anthony White, correct?”

“That’s the one.”

“Here he is,” and Malik went over to stand on the other side of the gurney, Altair next to him. “Bin’s over there in case you need it,” Shaun told Altair and pointed.

“I’m fine,” Altair said firmly. Shaun shrugged.

Shaun pulled back the white sheet from Anthony’s face, and then down to his stomach. He’d already cut this one open, the traditional Y shaped wound on the chest stitched shut again. “Cause of death seems pretty straight forward, stab to the neck,” he tipped the head, exposing the large puncture wound that had torn into the neck and throat. Without all the blood it looked strange and comical. “I’d say it was done by the same guy as your other dead blokes,” he nodded a little.

“Can I?” Altair asked, looking at Shaun.

“Can you what?” Shaun asked.

“Touch it?”

They both looked at the kid, “Sure,” Shaun said after a moment. Altair reached out slowly, his hand was trembling a little to press against the neck, right by the wound. Malik watched him. Altair didn’t look green, or like he was about to hurl. He looked interested, and not clinically so.

“So what else?” Malik drew both of their attentions away from Altair to the matter at hand.

“Well, it wasn’t nearly as clean as the others. The others died quickly, I think this one actually died from suffocation and not actually bleeding out.”

“What?” that made no sense.

“The others bled out rather quickly after a puncture to the jugular. Anthony died of asphyxiation. I checked the entry wound, there are two holes.”

“What?” was really all Malik could say and Altair was looking now as well.

“One entry wound, but it forks. Anthony was stabbed twice. Once to rupture the esophagus, though it missed the jugular. Maybe in this time Anthony tried to fight him off. But he suffocated. Afterwards the killer stabbed again, into the same hole, much more precise this time, cut the jugular as we’re used to seeing with these,” Shaun reached around and grabbed something. “I also found these in his stomach,” he showed Malik two teeth.

“Are they his?”

“Looks like it, he’s missing two,” he pried Anthony’s mouth open and without even flinching stuck his fingers in the dead man’s mouth. “A premolar on the left side and then a molar further back as well. See?” he asked angling it towards Malik.

“No… I’ll take your word for it,” he said even as Altair leaned around him to look inside. “How’d they get in there?”

“Well the killer came in like this,” and Shaun motioned, drawing a line through the bottom of his Anthony’s mouth, “on the first go. The trauma might have dislodged some teeth there that were already loose. Or they could have been in there a while, got into a fight or somethin’.”

“So basically you don’t know.”

“All I can do it guess,” Shaun said.

Malik pulled on his face, “Okay. Anything else?”

“That’s it really. Bruising on the hands show he  _definitely_  tried to fight off his attacker. Didn’t do him much good though,” Shaun made a face, puffing out his cheeks a little. “That and the double stab are really the only things different from the others.”

“Was he drinking?” Altair asked.

“Huh?” they both looked at him.

“Was he drinking?” Altair looked at Malik, “All the murders were also people who’d been drinking before hand.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read the case file? It’s right there.”

“No it’s not.”

“Is so. I’ll show you,” Altair said.

Malik frowned at him, “Was he?” he asked, looking at Shaun.

“Yes actually, he was. Not sure what kind, but his stomach was full of it.”

Altair grinned, “Another connection,” he told Malik triumphantly.

“Yeah,” Malik nodded slowly. “Thanks Shaun.”

“Any time,” Shaun said, “Well, not really. I hate doing these things, especially on kids like this. Yikes,” he looked at poor Anthony White and then pulled the sheet back over him before showing Malik and Altair back upstairs. Malik pulled on his coat as Altair jammed himself into his jacket and pulled his notebook from an inside pocket and began writing as Malik got his hat and shook hands with Shaun before leaving.

“That was interesting,” Altair said.

“Yeah, a blast,” Malik said, hands going into his pockets.

Altair looked at him, “How can you not find your job interesting? People don’t just get to go into a funeral home and see cadavers. You act like it’s nothing.”

“After I got home I don’t find the dead very interesting,” and Altair froze.

“Right, sorry,” he said meekly, “I didn’t-

Malik waved him off, “It’s fine. Now how’re your tests going?” he asked as he pulled out his cigarette case.

“Okay. The school lab is for anyone, so I’m having to share,” Altair shrugged, then beamed at him in the span of three seconds. “ _But_ , since it  _is_  a police investigation I get top priority for it.”

“That’s great,” though Malik was mostly humoring him. This kid was going to wear him out. He was really way too enthusiastic about everything. How the hell was this kid even real?

“Anything else today?” Altair asked.

“You need to show me where it says in those case files that they were drinking,” Malik reminded him.

“Sure,” Altair nodded. “So they’re still at your hotel right? You didn’t give them back to the police yet?”

“No, they’re there,” Malik had mostly finished his cigarette and then a thought came to him. “Do you smoke?” usually people Altair’s age were all about it.

“No,” Altair shook his head, “I don’t really see the point.”

Malik looked at him, then at the cigarette in his hand, “Good idea, they’re awful,” and he took another, long, drag. Altair snorted a little in amusement. “C’mon, lets get going and get it over with,” and they walked away from the funeral home to the police car at the curb.

—

Somehow it turned out to be something less than quick. As they were looking over the case files Altair not only pointed out the part Malik had missed about the drinking, but also several other things Malik had missed as well. He’d read these case files front to back and hadn’t seen them at all. That being said he had had a glass or two (or three) of bourbon while working. He obviously just missed them. No big deal.

But since Malik  _had_  missed parts they had to go over the case files again. And since Altair knew where all the information was he stuck around to point them out to Malik. Without him realizing it was starting to get dark. “Shit,” Malik said, looking up at the window where the sun had set and the parts of sky you could see through the buildings was indigo, “it’s late.”

“It’s fine,” Altair said, “this is important. Right?”

Malik’s mouth became thin a moment, “Yeah,” he agreed.

“You can take me back to my place later, we should finish this,” and he tapped the open case file they were going over along with just talking and tossing ideas back and forth about what had happened, who the killer was, what the possible motive could be, especially with the murder yesterday which threw a wrench into all of Malik’s theories.

“We should,” he agreed, then after a moment he asked, “You hungry?”

Altair looked like Malik had just said he loved him, “Yes.”

Malik chuckled, “Ease up on the enthusiasm junior.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t eat today.”

“…What? You should eat before going to see a mortician.”

“Yeah I would have but…” he bit his lip, “I’m kinda broke,” he admitted.

“Okay, well then the grubs on me this time,” he said and got up. “How do you feel about pizza?”

“I am so down for pizza,” Altair said. “No bacon or ham though.”

“You Muslim?”

“Well… yeah, aren’t you?”

“You sometimes lose Allah in intense situations,” Malik said.

“Oh, right… right,” and Altair swallowed, hoping he hadn’t hit a sore spot.

“Anything in particular you want?”

“Mushrooms, and some other meat.”

“I can do that. Don’t make a mess, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Ten-four detective!” Altair said enthusiastically. Malik fought a smile and lost before heading out the door, grabbing his hat on the way out.

—

An hour later Altair had destroyed the medium pizza Malik had gotten him, the one with mushrooms and sausage on it. He was finishing up the last of it as he told Malik stories about being an Arab in Switzerland.

“And then he said,” and he said some Swiss word. Malik had  _no_  idea what it meant, but in the context it was hilarious, and made Malik laugh. Altair laughed with him.

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“Nope,” Altair said, “it was something really mean and then I punched him in the mouth for it.”

“Ouch,” Malik winched in sympathy.

“It was about my mother.”

“Bastard deserved it then,” Malik said.

“Yes he did. After that everyone decided I was both decidedly awesome, and someone  _no one_  actually wanted to mess with,” he was extremely smug about that.

“Well, weren’t we doing work at some point?” Malik asked.

“Work and food are not cohesive at all,” Altair pointed out.

“True enough,” Malik nodded. “Work,” Malik reminded him.

“But you haven’t finished your food yet,” Altair said, pointing at Malik’s pizza which was covered in anchovies and green pepper slices. There were still most of the pizza left, but Malik didn’t have a bottomless stomach like teenage boys did.

“You can have it,” Malik said.

“What? But-

“Have it. Not going to do me much good, as I won’t eat it,” and he pushed the box over to Altair.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Have at it.”

Altair gave him a quick look and then picked up a slice. He folded his legs indian style as he sat back on the chair, his knee bouncing a little. “Thanks,” he said around a bite of pizza. Malik had managed to find New York style pizza in Chicago, which he thought was a miracle. It was pretty good too.  Not the best, but pretty good. “So,” he spoke and chewed at the same time, “one more file left.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you back home once we’re done,” Altair nodded at that and somehow the slice of pizza was already gone. Malik took the case file and flipped it open. “Jeremy Spick.”

“Fake name,” Altair said, working on a second slice and the food nearly fell out of his mouth as he talked.

“Chew with your mouth closed. What are you, an animal?”

“I can growl like a lion if you want,” Altair teased.

Malik chuckled, “No. Okay then. Lets find something that we don’t already know is obvious,” Malik sighed and flipped through the case file.

“I think,” Altair swallowed his pizza, “I saw something you might have missed. Page three, about,” he paused and seemed to be thinking a moment, looking at the air, his finger traced something invisible before he focused again, “half way down,” he nodded.

“What’d you just do?”

“Hmm?” Altair had pizza crammed into his mouth making it impossible to really speak.

“What you just did.”

He swallowed around the words, “Oh I uh can see it, in my head.”

“See what?”

“The case file. I’ve got a nearly photographic memory, only better, since I remember it in color,” Altair grinned. 

“That’s handy,” Malik said.

“Yep, most of the time, makes studying easy. Means I get bored easy though, since once I see or read something once I can call it up whenever I want,” he shrugged. “I find libraries helpful, means I don’t waste money on books,” Altair had finished two and a half slices by now. He honestly didn’t know where Altair put it since he had a flat stomach. Malik was just assuming he had a hollow leg.

“So I bet you’re a regular visiter of your school library then,” Malik said, the case file forgotten on his lap.

“They all know me by name,” Altair admitted sheepishly.

“No, that’s good,” Malik insisted, “I never got to go to school.”

“Why?” Altair was well working on the third piece.

Malik made a disgusting noise with his mouth, “Like they’d give a college spot to some poor brown kid when nice, rich, white boys were lining up for it in case there was a draft.”

“Huh,” Altair said, but also in agreement. “I admit, I don’t know much about the War, I mean, besides the fact that I was like twelve years old when it ended.”

For some reason that hit Malik like a bag full of bricks. Altair had been  _twelve_  when the war ended. Meaning he’d only been eight when it started. Malik had been twenty-one and had long since joined the work force, and when the War had broken out he saw it as a way to make money for himself and his family, since brown men didn’t get paid that much. He still got paid less than a white grunt, but at least he was doing good. He’d joined the LAPD when the War had ended as an intake officer, and just slowly climbed the chain. It was a miracle he was a detective, he knew that. Altair had still been just a kid, in primary school, and Malik had been going off to war.

“Malik?” Altair asked, having finished his third slice and Malik had stayed quiet, lost in his own head.

Malik blinked at the sound of his own name, “Yeah?” he asked, focusing.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” no. Malik couldn’t remember the last time he was ‘okay’. Not for a long time, before nineteen-fourteen. He’d gone overseas before America got involved, because they needed men and because the French paid better. He still knew a lot of French thanks to that deployment.

“You sure? You look lost.”

“I’m fine,” Malik cleared his throat, and focused. “Lets finish this up so I can take you home. I’m sure you have class.”

“I don’t,” Altair said. “I have off tomorrow.”

“Still, better to get home.”

“I can stay… if you want,” Altair ventured.

“It’s fine-

“No it isn’t,” and that stilled Malik. “You’re not as all right as you want people to think.”

Malik scowled at him, “Why do you care?” he demanded.

“Because you’re a country-man? Because you’re actually nice to me and don’t think I’m weird, or a freak,” Altair was amazingly somber, it was a side he’d yet to see of the teenager who was normally energetic and spunky. He looked very young and very terrified and alone. Malik realized Altair was as alone here as Malik was, he probably had friends in Switzerland and in Syria, and he was in a strange country here. “Or that the color of my skin matters,” and that one hit home especially. For an Arab Altair was pretty light, but there was no misunderstanding his features or the tint. He was an Arab.

Malik closed the case file and put it on the table. Altair watched him but said nothing. He tugged off his jacket, “You drink?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Want some bourbon?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Want to try it?”

“You have some?”

“Yeah. The lieutenant got it for me.”

Altair frowned, “Dirty cop.”

“No. Just a Mac who doesn’t let the government what he can do to his own body. Want some?”

Altair contemplated it, “Sure.”

“Okay then. Finish up that pie, I think the Dodgers are playing tonight. We might get the game here,” his eyes flicked to the radio, Altair looked where he looked. That’s when it dawned on Altair, he was staying, for a while at least. Malik turned away from him, grabbing his jacket and hung it up before going to get the bottle of bourbon and two tumbler glasses. Altair tuned the radio into the Dodgers game.


	3. Bourbon Dreams

Malik found himself at the Northeastern University, looking for the lab. He was hopelessly lost however and kept getting turned around. He had somehow found himself in the building for law and had no idea how he got there. Needless to say he was terribly confused.

“Excuse me,” a professor was coming out of their class, locking the door behind them, they looked up when Malik obviously singled them out. “I’m a little lost.”

The man looked him up and down, “Well I’ll say,” and not in a nice way. Malik’s hackles didn’t even twitch. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded, clearly looking for an excuse to call security on a brown man on campus where they weren’t supposed to be.

“I’m Detective Sayf with the Chicago PD,” he fished his badge out and held it up. The man turned dead white.

“Oh, detective, how can I help you?” he stammered, his tone changed instantly from accusing to helpful.

Malik tucked the badge away. He had to admit, he did enjoy the instant respect he got from it, even if it might not have been real. No one wanted to interfere with a detective. “I’m looking for the bio-science lab,” he said.

“Bio-science? We have a bio-science curriculum?” the professor seemed as confused as Malik when he first heard of bio-science.

“So I’ve been led to believe. If not that could you point me in the direction of professor Forman?”

“Ah, that I know,” they said. “You need to go across campus, to that building,” he pointed out the window, “and then through the big doors. Take the first right and it’s the third right door.”

“I see,” Malik said, “thank you professor,” and Malik turned and left, he heard the man muttering after him both curses and relief. Malik put his hat on as he left the building and walked towards the one he’d been pointed to. He found professor Forman easily and he directed Malik to the science lab. It still took him a bit of time to find it floor and Malik kept getting turned all around and he was about to just forget it when he pretty much stumbled upon it.

The lab was a large, clean, room with white tile floors, white walls and tables arranged for optimal space with aisles and rows arranged between the tables and desks. There were a few students in there wearing white lab coats and wide paned glasses, hunched over notebooks and vials and chemicals of this or that.

Malik walked in slowly, already worried he’d knock things over, but he didn’t and carefully made his way around the room. Then he found Altair sitting, at his station presumably, bent over a book with pictures of dissected bodies. Malik cleared his throat and Altair’s head jerked up.

“There you are,” he said cheerfully, “Thought you’d never show.”

“I had some difficulty finding this place,” Malik admitted as Altair closed his book and put it on a shelf above his station. “So, what do you have?” and he made to put his hat on the counter next to them.

“No don’t!” Altair started, making to grab Malik’s hat. “Just… don’t.”

Malik held his hat about an inch above the counter, “Why?”

“That guy’s growing bacteria. He cleans up, but kinda messy. I wouldn’t risk it,” Malik looked at the counter, it was clean looking, but slowly he lifted his hat back up. “I can take it,” Altair added. Malik handed him it and Altair put it on a skull he had on his shelf.

“Looks better on him,” Malik said.

“I dunno,” Altair said and tilted the hat a bit on the skull, “he doesn’t have the roguish good looks to pull it off.”

Malik chuckles, “Okay, kid, what you got for me?”

Altair pulled out a file. “Well- actually, is this sensitive?”

“Yes.”

 _“Okay then,”_  and he switched into Arabic without dropping a beat.  _“So I went back to Shaun’s after we left the other day,”_ three days, now four days since Anthony White had died. Malik was chasing ghosts on this case and the only reason he was even on it was for the fact it was connected with six other murders.  _“I got a sample of the stomach contents.”_

 _“Shaun kept it?”_  that was a surprise.

 _“He says he keeps them around a week for police investigations, just in case. Apparently he got his degree in London and they have_ real _kriminalists there,”_ he sighed a bit longingly. _“Anyway. I got some, ran the tests I could on them, which let me tell you, isn’t much. I don’t know what Anthony was drinking, but he’d been doing so heavily. I’m surprised he could even walk.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I also collected the teeth and actually looked in his mouth some more. The rear molar has been in there a while, the gums healed by then. I think he got into a fight or slammed into a wall.”_

_“And the other one?”_

_“That tooth was chipped, like someone slammed him into a hall really hard,”_  Altair said, checking with his notes in the file

 _“Maybe our killer?”_  Malik asked and Altair nodded.

_“Looks like it.”_

_“You took a saliva sample right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Anything?”_ Malik tried not to be hopeful.

_“Just that he’d had a lot of alcohol in his system.”_

_“What about the other cases?”_

_“What about them?”_

_“How heavy were they drinking?”_

_“I couldn’t tell you,”_  Altair said. _“The one before Anthony had been drinking heavily watered wine.”_

_“I thought it was juice.”_

_“I asked an officer to get me some. Trust me, it was wine.”_

_“You did?”_

_“Yeah… is that okay?”_  Altair asked nervously.

_“Yeah, that’s fine.”_

_“And we know one of the killed was in a speakeasy during his death.”_

_“Several of the others were found in restaurants,”_ Malik agreed,  _“so they could have been drinking diluted anything, or water.”_

_“And two were found in their homes?”_

_“Yeah. This one is out of pattern in that it didn’t happen inside,”_  Malik frowned.

 _“I— have a theory,”_  Altair said slowly.

 _“You do? I’m all ears kid,”_ Malik said, looking at him attentively.

_“Okay. So we know Anthony was killed outside. But what if it didn’t start outside? He was in a speakeasy, so was the killer. Maybe the killer was feeding Anthony drinks, and then before he could do it Anthony left? So what’s the killer do?”_

_“Follows him outside and finishes the job,”_  Malik said.

_“Exactly. It’s just a theory but-_

_“No, it’s good. That’s real good kid.”_

_“Really?”_  Altair smiled.

_“Yeah.”_

“Oi, Altair,” they both turned when one of the other students called his name, “We’re trying to work here. Stop with the gibberish,” the boy who was calling across the lab wasn’t even looking at them. Malik’s eyes narrowed when he heard something like laughter. He looked down at Altair and the kid was looking down, fists on his thighs clenched so hard his arms were shaking.

“They giving you a hard time?” Malik asked him.

Altair’s eyes darted up, “What? No, it’s just-

Malik wasn’t listening and walked away from Altair to the three white boys working at a table together. “Excuse me,” Malik said.

They looked up and he saw the contempt instantly, “What’you want? We’re busy brownie,” one said with a sneer.

“Hmm, I can see that,” as they were doing smears of some kind on glass slides while one dropped a blue fluid onto it. “But you see, I’m busy too. I’m a detective with the Chicago PD,” at least one of them swallowed, the other two didn’t believe him, clearly. “And that guy over there,” he pointed to Altair who was watching, wide-eyed, “is helping me in a very important case. So, if you could keep your ignorant opinions of our mother tongue to yourselves while we discuss a very serious situation, I’d much appreciate it,” Malik kept his voice level and calm the entire time.

“You ain’t no cop,” one said. “Who ever heard of a brown cop?” he elbowed his fried a little with a smirk. His friend looked a little wary, and the third looked positively petrified.

“I assure you, I am a cop,” Malik pulled out his badge and showed them it. The nay-sayer stiffened. “Now. I’ll tell you again. Keep your comments to yourself. While you’re over here playing chemist Altair’s helping me with a currently open murder case,” and they all looked at Altair, surprised. “Have a nice day boys,” and he tucked his badge away and walked back over to Altair.

“ _That was amazing,_ ” Altair said, bright eyed. Malik just shrugged.  _“No. Really. No one’s ever said that kind of stuff for me before. The Swiss are pretty nice people, mostly white, but not entirely racist like the people here seem to be most of the time,”_  he said.

 _“I know you can stand up for yourself,”_  Malik said.

 _“Thank you though,”_  Altair said, meaning it.

 _“It was nothing, really. I’ve been in that situation. You just have to tell them about the stuff they wish they were doing and you are instead. Back to it,”_ he added.

“ _Right. Okay so that was my theory. I wish I had more stuff, in general, to show you, but I don’t really. I’m limited by our knowledge and technology and the fact we don’t really have much to go on.”_

“Hmmm,” Malik said and rubbed his chin, tugging his goatee. “Did you get a copy of the shoe print?”

“Huh? Yeah, I did.”

“Lets see if we can figure out  _something_  about our killer. Shoe size can tell us a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Height at least, usually, and once you have a height you can usually figure out a body class. This guy is obviously athletic and and strong. But is he small, is he tall? The shoe print will tell us. And, if it has any sort of tread we might be able to find to manufactures that tread.”

“Wow,” Altair nodded. “Okay, I’ll get working on it. I’ll have to dig out the trace I made of it,” and he made a note in his book. “I should have it done by tomorrow or so.”

“Okay, let me know.

“I will. Should I just come by the hotel?”

“Yeah, tell the front desk you’re there, they’ll call up. If I’m in you can come on up. If I’m not I’m probably at the station, so just come back later.”

“You got it,” Altair nodded.

“See you soon,” Malik said, Altair nodded again and Malik left the lab. The guys at the other table watched him go.

—

As Malik was walking past the front desk when the man at the front desk flagged him down. “Mr. Sayf,” he said. Malik stopped.

“Yeah?” he asked, he was in a bit of a mood. He’d lost his hat somewhere while he’d been out in the past two days and had no idea where. He’d been out talking with some of the loved ones of the people who’d been killed. He was still looking for a motive.

“A young man came by looking for you-

“You told him I was out right?”

“Yes. I said to come back later but he said he’d stay and wait for you,” the man looked very concerned though Malik didn’t know why he would. “He’s sitting over there,” and the man pointed. Malik followed the line and saw Altair sitting slumped in a chair, his leather jacket on and his white scarf pulled up high to hide half his face. He didn’t appear to have anything with him, but a sofa was blocking most of Malik’s view.

“Thanks,” Malik said and left the front desk as the man nodded. Malik walked over to Altair who looked very small in the chair, all bundled up in his jacket and scarf. “Hey,” he said. Altair’s head didn’t move, but his eyes darted up to his face. Malik came around fully to him and was greeted by a huge purple bruise on Altair’s face, peeking up from under his scarf. “What happened?” he couldn’t help it when he stepped closer and grabbed Altair’s face.

“Nothing,” Altair jerked back, “I fell,” he said shortly. “An accident,” he insisted. Malik didn’t believe him for even a second. ‘I fell’ was the oldest lie in the book to get out of explaining hurts. During the War he’d heard it and said it plenty during boot camp and on the field to wave off the rare fights that happened from high tensions. “I have you shoe print,” he added and picked up a bag at his feet, opening it, and pulling out a file.

“You sure you’re okay?” Malik asked, taking the file gently.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Come upstairs,” Malik said.

“Huh? No, I have to go do some-

“Come upstairs,” Malik said again, “You need a drink.”

Altair hesitated a moment, “Okay,” he said and unfolded himself from the chair. Malik led him over to the elevator and they got in, Malik telling the operator which floor he was on, and then they started going up. Altair leaned against the wall of the elevator with Malik between him and the operator. Then the elevator dinged, they were on the fifth floor where Malik was staying and he followed Malik out like a brown clad shadow.

Altair sat on the couch. “You can take your jacket off,” Malik offered.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, “it’s kinda chill.”

“If you want I could turn on the heater.”

“It’s fine,” Altair said again.

“Altair,” Altair looked at him, “I can turn the heater on if you’re cold.”

“Okay. Yeah… that’d be great,” and Malik did before going and getting the bourbon. He heard Altair peel off his jacket as Malik poured them both some, pouring a bit more into Altair’s cup before going back over to him. He handed Altair the bourbon and sat down on the other side of the couch. “Thanks,” Altair said and took the cup. From this side Malik had a clear view of Altair’s bruised face, as he’d also pulled down his scarf. It mostly covered his jaw, but also part of his cheek. It looked he’d gotten into a fist fight. Malik wanted to beat the little shit who did it.

“So what’d you find on the shoe?” and Malik flipped the case file open, not even mentioning Altair’s mutilated face. There was a tracing of the shoe print, they were in luck, there was tread.

“Nothing,” Altair said. “Uh, not yet at least. I— haven’t gotten a chance to do much research for the tread, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Malik said, taking a sip of his bourbon and glanced at Altair’s cup, it was already more than half gone, like it had evaporated. Malik didn’t see any stains on the rug so he assumed Altair had drunk it. Bourbon was meant to be savored, it was a sipping drink, but Malik didn’t blame Altair for gulping it. “At the very least we can ask around for different-“ The phone by the bed started to ring. “Sorry,” and Malik got up. “Hello?” he asked into the heavy receiver.

“Mr. Sayf, this is the front desk, the police just called,” the man on the other end said.

Malik glanced at Altair who was drinking the rest of his bourbon, “What’d they want?”

“They said you needed to come to the down town station immediately.”

Malik sighed, “They say what for?”

“They said it was about the case?” the man was slightly confused.

“Okay, thank you,” and then he hung up. “Hey,” he called.

“Hmm?” Altair looked back at him.

“I need to go down to the station.”

“Oh,” and Altair went to gather up his things.

“Shouldn’t be too long, you can stay here till I get back,” Malik said, “the shoe print,” he added.

“Oh… oh right,” Altair nodded quickly. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” Malik scoffed, “I shouldn’t be gone long. I was pretty much just there.”

“Okay.”

“Just don’t touch my bag in the closet, otherwise do whatever,” he didn’t mention anything about room service. Altair had come after he’d left that morning and he somehow had a feeling he’d been there all day since he got back, and it was dark out now. He probably hadn’t eaten.

“Okay,” Altair nodded.

“Good, be back soon,” and then he left. He reached for his hat on the coat hang, but then remembered it wasn’t there. He cursed a little but carried on without it, just taking his coat instead. He needed to buy a new hat.

—

The station was surprisingly empty when he arrived when he got there. Lieutenant Sibrand was there though and jumped to when Malik showed up. He led Malik upstairs to the commissioner’s office. “Just knock, they’re expecting you.”

“They?” Malik rose a brow at him.

“Heh… you’ll see,” Sibrand said, giving the door a furtive glance and then leaving.

Malik knocked, “Come in,” he heard Robert say. 

He opened the door and instantly regretted it as two big mobsters on either side of him eyeballed him so hard he swallowed. Robert was standing behind his desk, but the one  _sitting_  at the desk Malik knew only through photos. Al Capone, leader of the Chicago Outfit and simultaneously a wanted man and the common man’s hero sat there looking like he had every right to do so. Malik saw the two distinct scars on his face and made himself not look. Honestly he didn’t look anything like how Malik pictured him, being a bit rotund in general but he was dressed as sharp as a knife in an expensive Italian suit.

“Hello, sir, Capone,” Malik said as the door clicked closed softly behind him. In three words he showed the gangster exactly where he stood.

“Detective,” Capone said. “The commissioner warned me you were a different sort, but I never would have thought you were some negro.”

Malik didn’t twitch, “I’m not,” Malik said, “I’m a sand nigger,” better to just get the insults about his skin out of the way.

Capone had a deep laugh, not at Malik’s expense, but clearly understanding what Malik was doing and enjoying it. “I see,” he said. “Well, have a seat detective,” he motioned to the chair in front of the desk. Malik took his coat off first, hanging it up next to one of the big mobsters before sitting, moving at his own speed. He wasn’t impressed or intimidated by mobsters. Okay, he tried not to be. But this was  _Al Capone_ , he was on everyone’s radar and even out on the west coast they knew or Capone and the tight outfit he ran. They had all sorts of upstarts in L.A. going on about how they were the next Capone. They usually ended up in jail first. “There, isn’t that better,” clearly he wasn’t expecting an answer, because he didn’t give Malik time to do so. “Do you know why you’re here, detective?”

“I can hazard a guess,” Malik said.

“You’re here, because you ain’t doing the job you were brought here to do. Commissioner Sable asked you here to work on who’s been killing my men, instead you’re worried about some college shit.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that. I wasn’t here for the other murders except Marky Solo. I just go where the murders happen.”

That wasn’t what Capone wanted to hear. “No. You’re working this case to find the killer of  _my_  men. Don’t forget that.”

“I don’t know who you think you are Capone, but unless God suddenly decides that one human is more important than any other than I work the case the way I work the case. Unless another one of your men winds up dead and me and my kriminalist can inspect the body or it gives us a lead, I don’t know what else you want me to do. Your men are open, close, cases. There are no real suspects. There were no witnesses. There is no evidence. I can’t find the killer without any of those things,” Malik said in a very simple tone, so he wasn’t misunderstood. He wasn’t defying Capone, there was literally nothing he could do. “The only evidence I have comes from Anthony, since, no offense commissioner, the Chicago force has done a piss poor job of inspecting the bodies until I showed up. You want me to find the murderer of your men, fine, I will. Anthony is included in that number now and to me he’s a whole lot more than any of your men.”

Capone stared him down, Malik looked back. He wasn’t scared. Very little scared you after the trenches and sleeping through the sound of artillery and grenade fire, hoping you’d wake up in the morning. It was just hard to feel like the normal world could touch you after dancing a four year dance with death. Malik had lost count of the number of times he’d escaped death during the War, and the number of friends who hadn’t. Some of him had gone along with those men. Capone couldn’t threaten him, because how did you threaten a man that was mostly dead on the inside already?

After a few moments Capone frowned at him. “You should really offer me more respect than you’re giving me, detective,” and somehow he turned it into a slur.

“I could say the same, Capone, since no one here in Chicago can catch the killer. If they could they wouldn’t have called me. I’m the best, and I don’t like you either. The only reason I’m even still here is because our killer got sloppy and killed Anthony White. So make whatever threat you want to me, I’ve dealt with men a lot scarier than you.”

Capone’s eyes narrowed, “I doubt that, detective.”

“Are we done here?”

“No,” Capone said, “We’re just getting started,” and Malik heard the door lock. He didn’t move, or even react at all. This was going to take longer than he thought.

—

It was pretty late when Malik returned to the hotel. He wasn’t hurt, but he’d been thoroughly shooken down. Or attempted to be. Capone literally had nothing on him. His family was dead or in L.A., he had no girlfriend or wife, he didn’t really have friends. He had his job, and like he’d told Robert, the commissioner didn’t own his badge, and neither did Capone. Richard did and unlike here the LAPD weren’t in the mob’s pocket and Richard was an advocate of stopping any and all mob or gang activity when it started. It was a path of great resistance, but it meant most of his cops were clean.

Capone could do nothing to him but threaten his own life. Malik had just said Capone could kill him, it wouldn’t matter to him too much. But if he did than they’d never catch the killer. Malik wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone ever again. He was too jaded and cynical, had seen too much.

He opened the door, taking off his coat as he did so, intending to apologize to Altair for taking so long but found the lights turned down. He hung up his coat before he turned the lights up a bit. There was room service on the coffee table of what looked like the remains of rice and a hamburger, or two hamburgers and two bottles of Coke, one half drunk, seemed to stand guard over the empty plate. The empty bottle of bourbon told another story, laying on it’s side in front of the couch. Altair was curled up on the couch, sleeping, using his jacket and scarf as a pillow. His shoes were laying at funny angles mostly under the table like he’d just kicked them off. The radio was playing jazz softly in the background.

Malik looked over the sleeping teen who didn’t seem cold, but then the heater was still on. Malik turned the heater down a bit and pulled off his jacket, hanging it up for tomorrow and unbuttoned his waist coat, hanging that up too, and rolled up his sleeves. Malik went over to Altair, who hadn’t moved since he arrived, and looked down at him. He thought about waking him, taking him home. Then he leaned down and picked up the empty bourbon bottle. It had been a bit less than half full, though the bottle itself wasn’t significantly big. He looked at the table and saw his glass of bourbon, undrunken, sitting there on the table. Well, at least he hadn’t drunk all of it, because Malik needed that drink.

Malik took up the cup and sipped it before putting the dishes on the tray they’d been brought in on and put it outside the door for house keeping to get. Altair had moved when he came back, stretching out on the couch. His shoes had a weird tread pattern that looked familiar for some reason but he couldn’t remember why. He was also still wearing those strange blue workers denim pants that hung low on his hips, his white T-shirt riding up on his stomach from when he’d moved. He needed to wake the kid up, take him home. 

Then Malik’s eyes went to his face, the bruised side exposed to the air so he wasn’t laying on it. He frowned deeply. He didn’t know what had happened but it was pretty unacceptable and Malik didn’t want to send him back home where he  _might_  be hurt again. But he didn’t want to leave Altair on the couch since it was small and not the most comfortable thing in the world.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Well, Malik was, if nothing, a man of action who always did the best he could. But could he do this? He contemplated the sleeping teenager before deciding yes, he could. He was pretty lithe and didn’t look too heavy. Malik leaned down and with a grunt he picked Altair up bridal style. While he was right, Altair wasn’t that heavy, he wasn’t some light weight either. Malik was too old for this.

Altair turned his face into Malik’s shirt as he carried Altair to the one bed in the room, nuzzling into his chest and warmth. He was glad when he could put Altair down though and laid him down gently. Malik liked Altair when he was sleeping, he was peaceful, and calm looking. Unfilled with energy and with his sharp eyes closed he looked older than he was, like he should be in his twenties. Malik gently ran the back of his hand against the unbruised side of Altair’s face, he didn’t wake. Malik put the covers over him before going back to the couch, turning the radio to the news, and drank what was left of the bourbon.


	4. Please

There was another one. Like the others this time, perfectly executed. Malik frowned at the dead body, sucking his cigarette. It had been two weeks since Anthony White’s murder. This new mac was a gangster named Louis ‘Louie’ McGillan and he had a red shirt, though it had previously been yellow.

Louis was slumped back in the booth, a napkin tucked into his shirt to catch the boiled lobster he’d eating. He was immaculate in every way, even his hair was undisturbed, and except for a slight cowlick, was perfectly coifed. Malik was quickly burning through his cigarette, waiting for an officer to bring Altair. He’d sent for him half an hour ago, he should be there any minute.

In the two weeks since Anthony White’s murder it seemed every time he saw Altair the teenager had a new bruise. On his face, his arms, sometimes he saw him wince when he moved and Malik assumed he had some on his torso too. Malik had asked at first, but he’d just stopped, Altair was never in a telling mood. So Malik just let him be and they did their best to work a nearly dead case. Malik had been thinking of closing this and putting it away when Louie had shown up like a gruesome present.

“Sorry,” Malik looked up, smoke falling out of his nose as he did at the sound of Altair’s voice.

“What the hell happened to your face?” was the first thing Malik asked because now there wasn’t just a bruise. Now there was a _scar_. Not too bad, but it was still distinct and on his face.

“Huh?” Altair asked.

“That,” Malik brushed his thumb briefly on the scar on his lips, cutting them vertically. He didn’t like seeing Altair hurt, it made him annoyed and want to go hurt whoever was hurting him. It was like he was looking after his little brother again, kicking the bullies’ asses whether they be white or brown or black or yellow. Malik didn’t give a damn. He’d beat anyone who picked on his little brother, and he felt the same overwhelming protectiveness for Altair. Only… more? He wasn’t quite sure. It had been a long time since he felt this was, he was out of practice being someone’s ‘big brother’.

Altair brushed his hand away, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Altair, it’s a scar. Where did it come from?” Malik pressed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Altair snapped. Also since the Anthony White murder he’d slowly gotten more snappy, especially after Malik visited him in the lab the first time. They didn’t meet there anymore and if Altair found anything through there he came and saw Malik about it.

Malik frowned, “I’m just looking out for you. But okay,” he snuffed out his butt in the ashtray on the table. “Work. Do your magic,” and he waved his fingers at Louis.

Altair put his tackle box on the counter and silently went about what he was supposed to do. He made notes, Malik had made his own already, he took samples, and looked in the victim’s mouth and noted the stab wound. “He’s drinking,” Altair said.

“Hmm?”

“It’s brandy,” he lifted the glass of what looked like apple cider and handed it to Malik. Malik took it and sniffed.

“This isn’t even a speakeasy, what the hell was he thinking?”

“That he’s part of the Chicago Outfit and can do whatever the hell he wants,” Altair growled, back to work.

“This is good brandy too.”

Altair looked back at him, pulling a face, “Did you just _taste_ it?”

“What?” Malik asked, his hands up and out a bit. “It matters. You tried the wine Mikey was drinking.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Altair rolled his eyes at him, “Drinking evidence.”

“Hey, I’m the detective here, not you,” Malik reminded him. Altair didn’t comment.

Altair moved around the booth to the other side then stopped, “Malik?”

“Hmm?” Malik was lighting another cigarette.

“Is this familiar?” and Altair pulled a tribly from the seat. Malik’s cigarette nearly dropped out of his mouth. That was _his_ hat. It was dark blue-gray, almost black, with a white wrap around that had red engaged circles on it. His _mother_ had bought him that hat, he’d recognize it anywhere. He’d since bought a new one when he’d lost _that one_ since he couldn’t be without his hat but suddenly it was showing up here.

“That’s mine,” Malik said in a dry voice.

“Yeah,” Altair said and put the tribly on the table. He turned it up, so the bottom was facing up, and looked inside. “Something in it,” he picked out a slip of paper. He looked at it then handed it out to Malik.

Malik took it with slightly numb fingers, he was amazed his cigarette had managed to stay in place this entire time. It was about an inch long and two sided. One side was blank the other had two words on it written with a type writer: stop me.

—

Malik didn’t like it. Malik kept the note in his hat pretty private. The commissioner knew, as did a few other people. It was better that way. Malik kept the tribly at the hotel and didn’t wear it around. He wouldn’t wear it again in Chicago until this case was solved. Capone was also on him. He told Malik to find that son of a bitch as he planned on giving him a pair of new shoes made of concrete when Malik did and introduce him personally to Lake Michigan.

Malik kept the slip of paper on him at all times. In the past three days between meeting with Shaun and Altair starting to run tests he’d taken it out and looked at it so many times the ink was starting to wear out and fade. He knew what the two words were, but for some reason he thought that if he looked at it the words would magically change. Like they’d tell him what he needed to know, or give him a clue. But no. It was just those two words.

It was wildly out of pattern. The killer had never left a message before, to Malik or anyone. There were no real suspects, there were no witnesses and there was practically no evidence, this guy was a ghost and professional. He knew what he was doing and didn’t mess around.

And now he was taunting Malik.

Stop me. Two words made Malik just _seethe,_ because the killer _knew_ him, or of him, enough to call him out. It was infuriating because he’d gotten close enough to get Malik’s hat two weeks ago yet Malik had looked right through him. Malik had probably looked _right_ at him and just missed it. It made him angry, at himself, and at the killer, that he could be so blind.

He was staring at the slip of paper. Altair was looking at a shoe catalogue, looking for their tread. They’d gotten these books from the major shoe companies in the country, they’d been shipped quickly and had impressions of all their shoe treads as well as an image of the shoes themselves. Altair went over them as they came in, and Malik followed up after him, to make sure.

“No matter how much to glare at it it’s going to say the same thing,” Altair yawned. The remains of a deep dish pizza was on the coffee table in Malik’s hotel room, as were several bottles of Coke. Malik had since found a new bottle of bourbon, but he didn’t drink until he was done working for the day.

“I’m aware,” Malik said.

“Done,” Altair tossed the catalogue on the table and then stretched. Malik’s eyes went to him as he did so watching his shirt ride up. Altair’s stomach was toned, and he could see a hint of bruising at the edge. Malik didn’t like it, the bruising, and Altair keeping quiet about it kinda pissed him off. So did the scar. Guys Altair’s age shouldn’t have scars, scars were for old men like Malik. He had plenty too, that’s what happened in war though, you got shot, or blown up, or any number of awful things.

“Nothing then?” Malik’s eyes went up to Altair’s face.

“Nope!” Altair said and lay down on the couch. Malik turned back to the slip. “You going to do it?”

“Hmm?” Malik asked.

“Stop him? You going to do it?”

“Of course I am? That little shit is calling me out.”

“What if they aren’t?” Altair asked.

“What?”

“I dunno,” Altair shrugged, “It doesn’t sound so much like a a challenge to me. It sounds kinda like a plea.”

“A plea?” Malik asked.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s not written by hand, he had to take the time to get to a typewriter and do that. And he had to know you’d look in your hat. Why not just put a challenge front and center?” Altair looked at him with a frown. Malik frowned as well. “He knew you’d look at it. Just you. Well, maybe me too,” he shrugged, “But it wouldn’t be for everyone to see. Just you.”

“So… what?”

“What would you do if it had said ‘please stop me’?” Altair asked him, looking at him upside down, shifting his head off the couch cushion.

“I’d still try to catch him,” Malik said.

“Well yeah. But would you see it as as much of a challenge if it was a plea?”

“They’re all challenges Altair.”

“I know that,” he snapped. Then he took a deep breath and sat up, “I just meant. Would it make you think differently?”

“Yes, probably,” Malik said. “But it doesn’t.”

“…Okay,” and Altair looked at the clock. “I have to go. My cousin is coming into town for a while. I told him I’d show him and his girl around.”

“I thought all your family was in Syria,” Malik said.

“ _Omy_ ’s American, remember? She had a bunch of siblings. Des is from South Dakota, drove all the way here. So, I gotta go.”

“Okay,” and Altair got up.

“I’ll see you around,” Altair said.

“How long’s he staying for?” Altair shrugged, “Doesn’t he have school?”

“He’s home schooled I think,” Altair clearly didn’t know or he didn’t care to tell Malik. 

It was very strange honestly. Before Louie’s death they’d been pretty close and Malik liked to think Altair was pretty level with him. But now it seemed like Altair didn’t want to spend time with him. Malik didn’t quite blame him of course, Malik was a lot older than him and capitalized a good portion of Altair’s time so he couldn’t spend it with friends, on on homework he probably had. Not to mention Malik was older, he dressed pretty with it and was pretty with it, but sometimes Altair would say stuff and it just went over Malik’s head. There was an obvious generation gap there since Malik had been thirteen when Altair was even born. It had been a different time in the nineteenth century and the country was untouched by the War and so was a generation. People Altair’s age didn’t get it and so the normal generation gap was even worse because of it and people Malik’s age, or older, saw the spoils of this era and just shook their heads a little. Kids like Altair didn’t get it. But they shouldn’t have to. This was their world now, and their peace that people like Malik had fought for, died for, to make sure there wouldn’t be another War that ruined the world. So Malik just accepted Altair’s distance, and his shortness, he was sure Altair was tired of hanging out with an out of touch old man anyway.

“Well, have fun,” Malik offered him a smile.

“I will,” Altair was pulling on his leather jacket now. “Call me if anything comes up, or you need me,” he added.

“I will,” Malik said. Altair didn’t have a phone, but the dorms he was staying in _did_ and on more than one occasion Malik had called them to get Altair to come down to the station, or Malik’s hotel, or wherever.

Altair tugged on the ends of his jacket so they settled right, then with a wave he left the room, not even looking to see if Malik waved back. Malik frowned after him before lighting a cigarette, turning on some blues, and filling his tumbler with bourbon.

—

Malik did his best to not think about Altair. It was pretty easy too, he was busy. Along with this case Robert had okay’d giving him some more, because it was such a slow burn. Malik worked those with the rest of the Chicago PD and were easier cases, sloppy, unprofessional. Shootings, gang turf wars that ended in innocents being killed, theft, disagreements. Things like that. Normal detective work. It was easy on him and let his mind focus on other things beyond the multiple murder case.

He kept two notebooks. One for his everyday cases, which was filling up quickly and he noted to get a new one; the other for the multiple murder one that filled at a snail’s pace after they found a new body. At night he’d look through them both, the pages of closed cases he folded over, but he’d unfold them and read them and read the open ones too.

A week passed like that. Then he saw Altair again. And literally just saw him. He wasn’t even sure Altair knew he was there, or saw him. He was getting lunch, sitting outside a little restaurant, his menu in front of him. He only noticed because he recognized Altair’s voice.

“Hey wait!”

He looked up, expecting to see something bad, and his head tracked around, down the street.

“C’mon Altair, keep up,” a girl’s voice called back and Malik still couldn’t find them. Another five seconds he was in time to see Altair practically run into two people from behind and loop his arms around their shoulders. One was a younger boy he was very obviously related to with an easy smile and wore clothes like he lived on a farm. Those blue work-man’s pants and a flannel shirt under a leather jacket that was a few shades lighter brown than Altair’s. The other was a girl, who while wore a shorter cream colored dress was decidedly _not_ flapper as flappers were flat and didn’t show their curves. She did, and she had plenty, the blue ribbon around her waist extenuating her waist and hips further. She also wore a scarf over her hair in place of a hat, like he saw women do when they rode in cars, though he could see traces of blonde hair getting out of place.

They were too far away for Malik to hear without them yelling, but they were walking towards him. Malik pretended to be busy with his menu, looking down, but kept glancing up as the three of them neared the cafe. He’d never seen Altair like that. He was friendly yeah, plenty friendly, but he wasn’t ‘touchy’ except on a professional level. Yet here he was draped all over these two people. Malik wondered if it was just them or if Altair was just more professional with Malik and this was just how he was.

“Duncan still going to murder you?” Altair asked as they came into ear shot.

“Well he doesn’t have the key to dad’s gun cabinet, so I think I’m safe,” the younger boy, Altair’s cousin; Des (short for…?) said with a laugh.

“You know he wouldn’t hurt you,” the blonde said with a smile.

“I dunno babe, way I heard it he was plenty angry at this guy right here,” and Altair shifted his grip on Des so it was almost like a headlock. The girl laughed and slid out of Altair’s grip as the cousins had a brief, playful, scuffle, Altair eventually shoving Des away. Des ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, making a face at Altair.

“You two knock it off,” she scolded them both.

“Sorry baby,” Des said and slid over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. They started walking again. “So Altair, hear from that girl of yours back home?”

Altair groaned, “Don’t remind me please,” they were in line with Malik now but Altair didn’t notice him. “I went to college to get _away_ from her,” Des laughed.

“That’s mean Altair. You know your parents just want what’s best,” the blonde said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in girls right now,” Altair said. “I just want… to do right,” he said.

“You do just fine Altair,” Des said, sounding consoling.

“I messed up onc-”

“You’re _fine_ ,” and then they were out of earshot and it took every bit of will Malik had to not turn around, or to not get up and follow them, to hear the rest. Instead he made himself sit there until the urge went away.

It did when the waiter showed up to take his order and Malik, who hadn’t even looked at the menu, ordered something at random, and a Coke. Malik sat there and tried not to think about what he’d just heard and seen. But that was impossible. It was also impossible to ignore that fact that he felt slightly hurt and jealous that Altair acted so much more at ease around his cousin and their girlfriend. He supposed that should make sense though, they _were_ family. Even so Altair told him he’d grown up in Syria and unless he came from some _serious_ money getting from Syria to America regularly enough to be familiar with your family on sight. Malik didn’t know the rest of his extended family. His father had moved here on his own, and his mother was an only child who’s family said the same story as his dad. There was just him, his parents and grandparents on one side, the rest were back in Palestine and Jerusalem, where Malik was from.

Altair did apparently though and was comfortable around them to the point he’d gladly drape all over them and while Altair gave him smiles and laughs it wasn’t _like that_. It hurt to see the stark difference between how Altair acted around him him, and how he acted around his family. Comparatively it looked like Altair was withdrawn. He didn’t even know Altair was the type to play fight.

It made him realize there was really a lot about Altair he didn’t know. It made him weirdly upset. He thought he did. But he didn’t.

His food came, a sandwich he didn’t really taste, and he tried to distract himself. He looked at the street around him. It seemed like it was _filled_ with nothing but young people, or people pretending to be young. Men in narrow cut suits with thin lapels, or leather jackets with two-tone shoes and fedora or triblys or driver’s caps with the sleeves and waist coats, though it was becoming warm out and soon men would be wearing boaters. Women in high cut, flat, flapper dresses in every color and shade imaginable, with a matching hat and purse, some wearing stockings, some not. People drove by in cars and which when Malik was a kid hadn’t even _existed_.

Malik turned back to his sandwich, sobered, and ate, paid, and left without looking at the street or thinking about Altair.

—

Four days later an officer was at his hotel door. They were wide-eyed and breathless, like they’d run from the elevator.

“What?” Malik asked, it was Saturday, the one day he had off.

“Sir, you need to come. Right now.”

“What? What happened?” he grabbed his hat but forwent his coat as he left the room with the officer. It was warm out today and April was doing it’s best to remind everyone it would soon be summer.

“You have to see it for yourself, sir,” he said and led Malik downstairs to a car waiting. Malik got in the back seat as the front had the officer and his partner in it. The siren was turned on and they tore down the street, Malik held onto the side since these two were not messing around and more than once he thought they were going to crash.

They arrived at a restaurant that was quartered off along with at least a dozen cop cars. And twice as many cops. There were people on the sidewalk being questioned by cops and he saw some puddles of vomit in the street. There was at least one woman crying. What in the world had happened?

Malik followed the officer into the restaurant and then into the back to the cellar door. Malik had no illusions about there not being a speakeasy down there and as they walked down it he found he was right, just as expected.

He wasn’t expecting all the blood though.

It was a massacre.

There were six dead, four at tables, two on the floor, stabbed in the throat just like the others. They all looked like business men but Malik knew what he was looking at: mobsters. Capone was going to hit the freaking roof. Unless they weren’t a part of his outfit, though he didn’t think otherwise, as other than Anthony White they’d all been part of the Chicago Outfit.

“I need a phone,” Malik said, his voice sounded hollow. He’d never seen so much death in one place before since the War. It was flooring, and not in a good way. He felt a bit ill honestly.

“There’s one behind the bar, sir,” the officer said.

Malik tore his eyes away from the massacre and walked to the bar, which was still stocked with contraband. Malik leaned over it and found the phone. He grabbed it and put it on the bar, blindly dialing Altair’s dorms. He knew the number by heart. “Hello? Northeaster-

“This is detective S with the Chicago police, I need to speak with Altair right now.”

“Oh, of course, just a moment,” and they put the phone down. Malik waited. Ten minutes went by.

“Hello?” Malik didn’t think he’d miss the sound of Altair’s voice as much as he did. Hearing it grounded him.

“I need you here,” he said.

“What?”

“For the case, I need you here,” Malik attempted to clarify.

“Oh. Oh, right. Where? What happened?”

“The killer’s back. Six dead. Bring your stuff. I’ll send a cruiser to come get you.”

“Just give me the address, I’ll have Desmond drive me,” Altair said in a very calm voice. Desmond? Oh right, his little cousin. Malik told him the address. “I’ll be right there, don’t let those idiots touch my crime scene,” and then Altair hung up.

Malik put the phone back on the cradle and stood there for a moment, getting himself in order. Then he took a deep breath. He could do this. He settled and turned back to the bodies. He stepped over to one, careful to keep out of the blood pool and crouched down next to him. Unlike in L.A. Malik didn’t worry about finger prints and freely touched the body. It was just like all the others. Single stab wound to the neck being the cause of death.

The second man on the ground looked like his mouth was a bit open. With a grimace Malik pried his mouth open and inside was a balled up napkin. Brows furrowed he took it out and opened it. Written in pencil with a shaky hand, like they’d done it very quickly, or scared someone would see- there was a bloody partial print on it- there was one word: please.


	5. Brown Man in a White Man's World

Malik was on his forth cigarette as he waited on the street for Altair. Then a strange car pulled up and from there he could see into the windshield. Altair was in the passenger seat with Desmond driving. Parked they were arguing but too far away for Malik to hear what they were saying. Desmond didn’t look happy and Altair was speaking hotly. He heard Desmond yell “Fine!”, glaring at Altair and then Altair got out of the car. Desmond leaned back in his seat, hands fisting the steeling wheel, scowling towards Malik. Then Malik realized he wasn’t scowling  _to_  Malik, he was scowling  _at_  Malik. Malik slowly blew out smoke and Desmond made a face at him.

“Hey,” Altair called, “Sorry,” he added, “Desmond was being an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Malik said calmly.

“So, lets see them?” Altair asked.

“Yeah, this way,” Malik flicked his cigarette away and led Altair into the restaurant and down into the speakeasy.

“Oh my,” Altair breathed.

“Pretty much,” Malik said.

“Well, I should get to work then,” and Altair moved away from him and started to do his thing. Malik watched and they talked. It was the first time he’d really talked to Altair in over a week.

Malik noticed that Altair was unbruised. Well, no new fresh ones at least. He still had one next to his ear, but that was a week old and Malik wasn’t too concerned. Altair always brushed him off about it, saying not to worry, that he was fine. He assumed Altair was just getting into fights with some kids at school, he didn’t want to think about if it was something else. He also seemed calmer. That was good.

“Hey Malik,” Altair called, he was over at one of the booths. Malik was lighting a cigarette and not following after Altair like he had been.

“Yeah?” he asked, concentrating on lighting his cigarette.

“You need to see this.”

He waved his match out and the tip of his cigarette burned orange as he went over to Altair at the booth. “What’d you find?”

“This one has two stab wounds,” he grabbed the man by the hair and pulled back. There were two wounds, mirrored on either side of the neck. Malik frowned. “It’s also a different knife than the others, shorter.”

“So we’re looking at two killers?”

“Maybe. Or he switched weapons.”

“That makes no sense though,” Malik said. “He’s efficient with one, why would he suddenly switch to two?”

“No idea,” Altair sighed and wrote some notes in his book. As he did Malik pulled out the napkin and looked at it, he’d kept it in his pocket since he’d pulled it out of the man’s mouth. “What’s that?” Altair asked and when Malik looked at him he looked nervous.

“I found it in one of the Johns’ mouths,” he handed the napkin to Altair who took it. Altair’s hand shook a little but he took it and looked at it. Malik didn’t understand why he looked so upset at seeing it.

“Oh,” Altair said. “Well… Seems your killer’s turning into a chatty thing, huh?” Altair offered him a smile. He handed Malik the napkin back.

“Seems so,” Malik said. “So hows the visit from your cousin going?”

“Fantastic,” and his smile widened. “I haven’t seen Des since I started college, so I’m glad to see him. Though he’s going to be in  _so_  much trouble when he gets home,” Altair chuckled as he took a blood sample.

“Why?”

“His car? Not actually his car.”

“Who’s car is it?”

“His brother’s,” Altair was very amused by this.

“You have  _more_  cousins?” Malik asked.

“I have like,” Altair thought a moment, “twelve cousins,” he said. “Most of them live on the east coast though. And those are just ones related by my parents. I have… a very big extended family,” Altair wasn’t looking at him, but at the victim with two wounds.

“Lucky.”

“Hmm?” Altair glanced at him.

“I just have parents.”

“Trust me, big families kinda suck, especially when they aren’t the same religion as you and you have to worry about when holidays are. It’s just a bit much at times,” he gently examined the wounds and then moved to another body, done with that one.

“Do you have any siblings?” Malik asked, honestly he did want to know more about Altair. Like real stuff, not just work stuff. He wanted Altair to be comfortable around him like he was with his cousin.

“No,” Altair said, slightly distracted. “Just a boat load of cousins I see every few years. From what I hear having siblings isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Altair glanced at him, “I had a brother, remember?”

“Right. Right. Lot going on.”

“I thought you remembered everything.”

“Everything I  _see_ , I forget a lot that I just hear,” and Altair was busy with the body and Malik wondered when he’d become the guy who made small talk. He  _hated_  small talk. Yet here he was, doing so.

“Your cousin like Chicago?”

“He’s a country boy, bit overwhelmed. He’s getting used to it though. He says I’m a lier when I tell him Lake Michigan isn’t actually an ocean,” and Malik laughed at that.

“Didn’t you say his girl was with him?”

“Yeap. Childhood friend.”

“Wow. She nice?”

“She’s a doll. Also way too good for him,” Malik chuckled again and caught Altair’s rueful grin.

“I think you’re just saying that.”

“Nope. She is literally way too good for him,” Altair proclaimed and then moved to the last body. “This one has the double stab wound,” Altair said.

“Can you tell what order they were killed in?”

“I couldn’t say, why?”

“Because maybe he  _did_  go to two weapons and they were killed last,” Malik examined the wounds. “Though, they look kinda different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Malik pointed, but didn’t touch the bloody skin. “The others are clean and firm, with just the right force behind them. This one looks like they had  _less_  force than they needed, and the angle is different, like he suddenly got shorter.”

“Or a second killer.”

“I think that is what happened. Two killers, or maybe even more.”

“ _More_?”

“Yeah, why not? There are six people dead, two by our second killer. I find it hard to believe that our original killer did this with help from just one person.”

“Well that makes sense I guess but-

“I don’t care  _what_  he said,” someone suddenly yelled from upstairs. They both looked up. “Get the hell out of my way or I’ll have your badge,” and then there was the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Malik half expected Al Capone, but he wasn’t the type to yell.

Another man came down the stairs, he wasn’t a mobster, but a business man (Malik assumed). “Sir, you can’t be down h-

“Shut up,” the man spat. The man looked very close to crying and Malik realized what he was looking at. This man was related to one of the victims.

“Sir, please,” Malik moved towards him slowly, hands out in front of him. “You can’t be down here, this is a crime scene.”

“No. Where’s my brother,” he cried. Then he obviously found him. “Hey! Get off him, that’s my brother,” and he made for Altair. 

Malik grabbed the man. “Sir, you need to leave,” Malik grunted but the man was big, and strong, and Malik was desperately out of practice of keeping people where he wanted them. They jabbed him with their elbow in the ribs and shook Malik off so hard he fell to the ground.

Malik got up in time to see him have a go at Altair. “Get off him you stupid little-“ the man threw a punch, but Altair had been watching. Altair ducked under it and then Malik watched in more than a little awe when Altair grabbed the man by the arm, jerked him back, swept the man’s feet out from under him and threw him to the floor. He’d never seen Altair so graceful, it was like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Altair had the man on his chest, arm wrenched up behind his back, hard, knee on his back. “I would advise not doing that again,” Altair said in a dead flat voice that made Malik shiver. There was something dangerous about the way Altair spoke now.

“Get off me! Let me go,” the man cried.

“No. Now you  _shut up_  you stupid American,” Altair said in the same dead voice. “This is  _my_  crime scene and you’re not allowed down here. So we can do this two ways, you can leave on your own, or I can throw you out,” and Malik didn’t doubt he could. Altair was pretty unassuming and his leather jacket usually made it look like it was what was filling him out. But holding this man down Malik could see the distinct curves of a muscular back and shoulders, the veins showing on the top of his hand a little from keeping him still.

“Get off-

“Understand?” Altair hissed and obviously was doing something, though Malik wasn’t quite sure what because the man whined.

“Yes,” he hissed in pain. “Lemmie go.”

“You going to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” and Altair released him, unfolding from the man. The man got up with a groan. Once he was up he glared at Altair and took another swing. That was probably the worst decision he’d made, and seeing as how he’d made several of those already that was saying a lot. Altair ducked again and then slammed his open palm into the man’s chest. He crumbled like a house of cards, coughing and falling to his knees, wheezing. Altair took a deep breath and then let it out. “You should get him out of here,” he told Malik. The kid wasn’t even winded, Malik stared at him. “Malik,” he snapped, “Get him out of here.”

“Right,” Malik said intelligently and moved forward, he grabbed the man and hauled him to his feet. The man wheezed and he took him upstairs. “Someone watch this guy,” he told the officers.

“We’re so sorry detective-

“Save it. Cuff ‘im or something. Just keep him out of my crime scene,” and he released the man into the officers’ custody. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down, hesitating. What the  _hell_  had he just seen? He’d never seen Altair move like that. He’d never seen  _anyone_  move like that honestly. He didn’t really know what to make of it frankly, it was sort of scary, sort of amazing, and Malik was a decided shade of impressed. He stood at the top of the stairs for a bit before going down. “Altair what was-

“All done,” Altair cut him off, maybe deliberately, maybe he was just ready to talk. The kid could talk quite a bit after all. “So I did some measuring of the other victims, the ones with the two stab wounds, and from what I can tell I actually think that each wound was made by a different person. I’m not entirely sure it’ll have to wait till autopsy.”

“Why would you think that?” Malik asked.

“There was a difference in the depth of each one. The one on the left was a killing wound, the one on the right was a maiming one, like it was used to hold the person down.”

“Why would they need to do that?”

“Small person? Not as much upper body strength. Any number of things. Not quite sure myself. Also,” and he literally  _hopped_  over to one of the bodies on the floor. “I found this,” he pulled out a cigarette butt and waved it at Malik.

“Yeah. So?” he asked wondering when he should be impressed.

“It was  _under_  the body. This speakeasy doesn’t allow smoking.”

“Our killer doesn’t smoke,” Malik said.

“Gives more credence to your second killer now doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Malik nodded.

“I also found another one under a table in the corner.”

“You check it out?”

“Was in the middle of when you came back downstairs,” and he left the body and went over to the table in question.

“Well we’re on to something at least,” Malik said.

“Mhm! I’m just not sure  _what_ ,” Altair said, on his hands and knees under the table. Malik caught himself staring and looked away. Slippery slope. “Well they weren’t drinking,” he called. Malik looked at the table, Altair had slithered under it and was sort of half propped up between the table and the booth bench. Everything had been left as was, even the contraband. Six deaths required police help, even the owners knew that. “Thought it was moonshine at first,” he had one of the glasses in his hand.

“Water?”

“One hundred percent,” Altair nodded.

“So they probably weren’t drugged.”

“Could be on opiates,” Altair reminded him.

“Not that popular in Chicago, hard to get,” Malik said, “it’s more a west coast thing really.”

“Well  _one_  of them smoked. Tobacco, already smelled it.”

“Anything else of interest?”

“Well, there’s only one glass. But, I saw a pitcher on one of the victim’s tables. One for water, though they themselves were drinking brandy.”

“So?”

“So,” Altair climbed out of the booth, “what if-

“Detective S, you down there?” someone called from the ground floor.

“Yeah,” he called back, “What’ou want?”

“Commissioner’s here, he needs to speak with you.”

Malik sighed, “Right. Hold that thought kid,” he told Altair.

“Right,” Altair nodded.

“You can come by later if you want, we’ll figure out your theory then, okay?”

“I’ll see,” Altair said.

“Something up?”

“Cousin, remember?”

“Oh right,” Malik nodded.

“I’ll try and get away,” Altair promised, “If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. You finish up, I need to take care of this,” he pointed upstairs.

“You got it,” Altair smiled at him broadly and Malik climbed the stairs leaving Altair there by himself.

Robert was waiting for him when he got top side. “You wanna tell me what the  _hell_  is going on?” the commissioner demanded, hands on his belt, pushing aside his jacket like a set of wings.

“Well, there are six dead people down here and-

“I meant him,” he pointed at the man Altair had downed.

“Oh. Him, I don’t know what you want me to tell you commissioner.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“Not at all, sir. All I know is that he’s related to one of the victims and he came down there and attacked us.”

“He at-attacked you?” that clearly threw him.

“Who is that man?” Malik asked.

“Tony Ferregney-

“Should that mean something to me?” Malik rose his brows at the bald commissioner.

“Considering he’s near the top of the pecking order in the West Side Gang, yes; you should,” Robert hissed.

Malik blinked, “I don’t know what you expect me to say Robert. He came onto my crime scene, I tried to get him to leave and then he attempted to bodily assault my kriminalist.”

“Did he now?” Robert wanted to believe him, but it was clear he wasn’t doing so much.

“Yes.”

“Then do you want to  _explain_  to me how he has a fractured rib and why I’m going to have to smooth this over with O’Banion as to  _why_  this happened?”

Malik blinked, a fractured rib? “You’re kidding.”

“Does it  _look_  like I’m kidding detective?” Robert demanded, pointing at his face.

“No. No you don’t,” Malik agreed. “No way he has a fractured rib,” the force needed to break someone’s ribs was a lot more than most people realized. Malik wasn’t sure entirely of the statistic, but it was a lot more than what he’d seen Altair do, for sure. “It’s probably just bruised.”

“ _Whatever_  it is, detective, the West Siders are going to be breathing down our necks about it,” Robert harumped.

Malik held his tongue at that comment. Like maybe if Robert wasn’t in the mob’s pocket they wouldn’t have to worry about that because they’d be too worried about getting caught. He didn’t say that though. That was just asking for trouble. “Well it wasn’t me,” he said.

“It wasn’t? Than who? You wanna tell me that skinny  _kid_  you bring onto crime scenes did it?” Robert was mocking him. Oh, bad idea there. “Don’t take me for an idiot detective.”

Malik took a deep breathe, “I would never,  _sir_ ,” his disdain showed.

“Good,” Robert growled, “So  _why_  does Tony now have a broken rib?”

“Bruised,” Malik said, he couldn’t begin to believe the guy’s rib was actually broken. No way Altair could do that. “And I told you, he came onto  _my_  crime scene and when he saw Altair looking over one of the victims-

“His brother,” Robert cut in.

“Yes, his brother. I asked him leave, he wouldn’t. I tried to remove him.  _He_  attacked  _me_  and threw me to the ground before trying to punch my kriminalist. Altair defended himself and restrained Mr. Ferregney and after giving him a chance to walk away peacefully, to which Mr. Ferregney  _agreed_  he attacked Altair  _again_. Thus resulting in what you see now.”

“You expect me to believe this bull shit detective?” Robert demanded.

“It’s the truth,” Malik said. “What? Do you want me to say it’s my fault and take the fall because I’m brown? No, I won’t. We were  _attacked_  and are in our rights to defend ourselves. I don’t give a damn  _who_  this man is he has no right trying to hurt anyone,” and Malik stared Robert down, not an easy feat ad Robert was much taller than him and seemed even larger than life with his wide shouldered suit.

“Don’t you talk to me like that detective-

“Or you’ll  _what_?” Malik growled back. “Really, what? Make my day commissioner,” he stared into Robert’s blue eyes. He knew he could stare down a lot of men. Things he’d seen. Things he’d done, changed a man, changed the way people dealt with them. Malik was afraid of no one, especially not some dirty white cop. He’d faced down Germans and Austrians and Ottomans and Bulgarians who came at him with guns and rockets and tanks and attack dogs. He’d faced things men, especially young men like Malik had been, should never have to face. A Chicago commissioner was nothing to the War and Malik wouldn’t be cowed just because he was a brown man in a white man’s world. “Don’t make me go back to L.A.” he added.

He won the stand off. With a groan Robert backed off and rubbed his head. “Get out of here,” he ordered. “I’ll sort this out.”

“Yes, sir,” Malik said. He darted back downstairs to get his coat and hat. Altair was gone already and Malik grabbed his things before heading back upstairs and heading for his car.

As he did he turned to where Desmond had parked. They were still there. Malik was parked close to them and as he got closer to could faintly hear them. They were arguing, waving hands and pointing fingers at each other.

“This is going sideways,” Desmond said.

“It’s fine. I’m telling you  _back off_ ,” Altair spat back.

“This isn’t how it’s done. You  _know_  that. He’s going to be so pissed you went back-

“Shut up Desmo-

“I’m looking out for you! Do you think I want to see you-

“I can handle it,” Altair’s voice was raising slowly, which was strange. Malik never actually knew Altair to yell. But his cousin was really riling him up.

“You’re going to get-

“I can handle it!” Altair practically screamed looking an inch away from punching his cousin. Desmond looked like a puppy who’d just been kicked and deflated in an instant. It looked like Altair was getting ready for another round but Desmond was suddenly across the car, hugging Altair tightly. Malik couldn’t hear what was being said but he watched in a sort of deranged fascination when Altair hugged him back, squeezing Desmond, his face on his cousin’s shoulder.

Malik made himself get into his car so they didn’t notice him, but was still watching from his side mirrors. They stayed like that for a moment before breaking apart, both of them nodding and now they were talking at a respectable volume and Malik couldn’t hear. Desmond kissed Altair on the forehead and Altair batted at him in a typical ‘ew my cousin just kissed me’ fashion, which Desmond just smiled off. Then he started the car and back out. Malik watched them go through his rearview and only once the slight temptation to follow them passed did he start his own car and head in the other direction.


	6. Ruin Me

Malik went and visited Shaun alone when the undertaker said the bodies were ready. It was simple in and out, nothing interesting that they didn’t already know from the other murders. They’d been drinking, they’d been killed via a single (a double in two of their cases) stab wound to the throat and then bled out. Open, shut. Still no suspects since no one wanted to come forward and say they’d been at that speakeasy, they knew it was illegal.

That just made it all the more frustrating and he couldn’t even find the owner. After the murders the owner had vanished and the police had destroyed all the contraband. Though Sibrand had slipped Malik two bottles of bourbon he’d managed to pocket before that. The lieutenant was an okay guy, easier to deal with than Robert at any rate who was all smoke and fire.

Malik was enjoying some of his contraband in his hotel room when the phone rang. It was later, and been nearly four days since the speakeasy massacre. He was trying not to think about how the media was spinning this. They’d been able to keep it quiet that the previous murders weren’t connected, but six murders in one night; this couldn’t be ignored. The Chicago papers were blocking it up, though Malik’s name was kept out of it. The press would have a  _field_   _day_  if they knew a brown man was leading the case. Maybe that was the reason for the bourbon, keep him quiet. Like they needed that. Malik hated talking to reporters, like he had in L.A. when they first caught wind that he’d first been promoted and he wasn’t even Mexican like so many believed. Stupid white people, thought all brown folk were the same.

He got up with a groan and went to the phone, holding his tumbler in one hand, cigarette dangling from two fingers. “Hello?”

“Hello Mr. Sayf, this is the front desk,” said the cheerful, female, receptionist.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“There’s a young man here asking if you’re in and willing to take visitors.”

“Yeah, tell him to come up,” Malik said and looked at the time. It wasn’t too late.

“Okay,” and then she hung up, He dropped the receiver back onto the cradle and contemplated putting his jacket back on. He decided no, he was already drinking and it was too hot in a jacket, so that just left him in his waist coat and sleeves as he waited for Altair to knock on the door.

When it happened Altair smiled at him when he opened the door. Malik, however, wasn’t smiling. “What? Sorry I didn’t get back to you like I said I-

“What happened to your face?” Malik asked, shocked and angry. Altair’s face was bruised, his eye was black still, doublely so, he had a fading bruise on his cheek, and one on his jaw. Malik could tell, just by looking at him, that he had other bruises too, under his clothes, by the way he stood, like he was favoring one on his leg. It made him…  _unreasonably_  angry to see this.

“Nothing,” Altair didn’t even blink. “I fell.”

“Horse shit,” Malik said, hands on his hips, “What happened?”

“I told you, I fell,” Altair said and Malik scowled. He wouldn’t get anything else out of the kid but that, he knew that. For that he didn’t bother asking a third time. Instead he just let the kid in. “So I was thinking about the case.”

“Yeah? What about?” Malik asked as he closed the door. Altair went and sat on the chair. Malik didn’t miss the way he winced a little as he did. 

“Well,” Altair pulled out his notebook, “I went and saw Shaun, before he released the bodies. He helped me look at the entry wounds.”

“Yeah, and?” Malik sat on the couch across from him slowly.

“Like I thought, the right side wasn’t the killing wound, not only that it wasn’t that deep. Only about,” he put his thumb and index finger on one hand about three inches apart, “that deep.”

“Well that’s great. A strange occurrence that we have no idea why it’s there,” Malik frowned. Then he remembered, “So what was your theory?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Altair turned to a page in his notebook and it occurred to Malik he’d never actually looked at Altair’s notebook. “Okay, so, this was my theory. Say there were  _three_  of them.”

“Three of them?”

“Yeah, why not?” Altair asked and then continued. “So there are three of them, our original killer, the cigarette smoker, and then a third person. Now I think the third person was a lot more inconspicuous than them, and they were the marker.”

“Marker?” Malik asked.

“While I was going over the bodies I noticed something,” Altair said, “There were tables, with water on them. That was a speakeasy. My theory is that the third person marked the tables with glasses of water to say who was supposed to die and then, the other two, once they knew who the marks were, went and killed who was supposed to die.”

Malik was quiet for a moment, “That’s some theory. And mostly built on circumstantial evidence. We can’t know that.”

He sighed, “I know, but it’s a theory, and we don’t have many of those. No theories, no evidence really, and no suspects, or witnesses.”

“A detective’s worst nightmare,” Malik agreed. “I did have one piece of evidence but I can’t find it now.”

“What? Did you lose it?”

“Apparently. I don’t know how. Remember that note I found?”

“The ‘stop me’ one?”

“No. The more recent one. The one I found in a John’s mouth.”

So some reason Altair seemed unsettled by that, “What did it say again?”

“‘Please’,” Malik said, “Very strange,” he frowned.

“I’ll say. Weirdo,” Altair rolled his eyes a little. “Probably just messing with your head,” he said.

“Probably,” Malik agreed and leaned back on the couch, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. “So, what else do you have?”

“Well,” Altair said and Malik tried not to be amused by Altair’s slight rambling about the case. But it was nice too. He hadn’t seen the kid much. He’d missed him. It was nice to hear his voice and listen to him talk and Malik found his eyes drawn to the Altair’s mouth as he talked, nodding and offering his own words now and then when required. Every so often he’d look up into Altair’s butterscotch colored eyes, one framed in a dark bruise. It made him feel calm.

They talked about the case before moving on to other things. Malik asked about his cousin, his cousin’s girlfriend, his family, school, anything really. It was nice, familiar, and Altair seemed more relaxed and less snippy then he’d been in a while. Which was good since Malik wanted to know more about Altair, and wanted to keep hearing the sound of his voice and watch the way his hands would move when he talked. They didn’t move a lot, like some people (especially the hispanics back home), but when they did they were graceful. Malik liked watching his hands too. He liked everything about Altair honestly. He was easy on the eyes and had a nice voice and was smart and clever and could think on his feet. Malik especially appreciated when he smiled, wide and full and while he’d hated the new scar on his face at first it tugged his lips up when he smiled. Malik wondered what it felt like, to touch, to kiss.

He pulled himself back so abruptly Altair noticed. “Everything okay?” the student asked.

Malik looked at the cigarette in his hand like it was somehow its fault. He was trying to figure out where  _that_ had come from. What the hell even? “Yeah, fine,” Malik waved him off. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that-“ and then Altair continued as if he’d never paused.

Malik was now only half paying attention. The other half was desperately trying to figure out where the thought that had stopped them even  _came from_. Malik knew quite well his personal sexual identity. He liked women plenty and had gone after several before going off to the War. But he liked men too. It was a much more subtle thing though, because you  _had_  to be subtle about it. You couldn’t just go around openly staring at other men if you thought they were attractive, it would get you in trouble and shipped off to a mad house. So he was subtle and the times he chased after men were just as satisfying as when he chased after women. 

So he wasn’t freaked out about the whole wanting to kiss a guy thing. It was more the whole wanting to kiss _Altair_  in particular. He was so young. Malik usually went for people his age range, not younger and  _definitely_  not teenagers. They were young, immature, and didn’t want older guys anyway, not broken men like Malik at least. But despite how young Altair was he wasn’t immature, sure he was a little, but he wasn’t even twenty, it was forgivable. For the most part though he was amazingly mature and didn’t get grossed out because of Malik’s line of work and clearly got that Malik was partially married to his work and that it was important to him. Altair also had that fact that he  _had_  grown up in the twentieth century going for him. The nineteenth century was restrictive and while Malik  _had_  had a few relationships with men, they were always very secret and covert affairs. They still had to be, but it was the twenties and times were different, the War was over and people were a lot more accepting of a lot of things. Obviously or Malik wouldn’t even have his detective’s badge at all.

Malik smiled, it wasn’t a point in whatever Altair was saying where a smile was expected and the kid started, confused, but didn’t stop talking either. He did give Malik a look though, Malik just continued to smile.

So what if Altair was young? Malik thought he was handsome and he wouldn’t mind seeing him with a few less layers of his clothes off either. Now he always got why he was so protective of Altair and hated seeing him so battered like this. He liked Altair, and in the ‘let me see you without your clothes’ sort of way and when he got like that he got more protective than his normal ‘I like you as a person’ sort of like as he hated seeing his friends hurt too. But to feel actual  _anger_  and want to go and find whatever sonovabitch who’d laid a hand on Altair and beat them meant it wasn’t a platonic like. Well that made a lot more sense now honestly.

He didn’t know how but somehow Altair talked Malik into letting him order room service at around nine. Actually Malik did know how. Because Altair always seemed to be hungry or never had any food at home so Malik didn’t mind feeding him. He wasn’t paying for it anyway, the city of Chicago was footing his hotel bill, including room service. Robert just said to not go crazy and everything would be fine. A little while later hamburgers, rice, and two Cokes showed up at the door and they listened to jazz while Altair ate. Malik, because he was an actual adult, had eaten already. 

He sat back comfortably and this time it was his turn to talk since Altair’s mouth was full. Altair asked him some questions and Malik answered. The kid was a bit of a messy eater, but did so with great enthusiasm, like he did with everything. There wasn’t a thing Altair did where he wasn’t enthusiastic.

“Hey Malik,” Altair said.

“Hmmm?” Malik was working on a new cigarette.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want but… what was it like? During the War?” he asked it carefully, knowing it was a sensitive topic.

Malik got very quiet, his cigarette hung off his lips limply and for a few moments he said absolutely nothing. Altair clearly started to grow uncomfortable, wishing he’d never asked, and looked about to take it back when Malik suddenly said, “Imagine hell,” another long pause, “and then imagine worse,” he took a drag and after ashing his cigarette he breathed out saying, “That was the War.”

“Oh,” Altair frowned a little. “… No one likes to talk about it.”

“If someone brags about it they didn’t see it,” Malik said. “There’s nothing glorious about going to war, nothing to gain. All there is, is death. And more death,” he said somberly, taking another drag. He sighed and it all flew out of his mouth. “The guys who want to talk about it don’t know shit, they were back in the rear, or didn’t serve on the front.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I was  _always_  on the front. My skin color made me disposable and an easy statistic,” Altair looked positively  _horrified_. “My entire platoon was black, or brown. Some of them were American, most were French-

“French?”

“I served in the French military,” Malik nodded, “because it took America time to get involved. But the French were accepting and my family is pretty poor. It was a job that paid, so I went.”

“…Can you speak French?”

 _“Yes I can speak French_ ,” Malik said, Altair’s eyes  _lit up_  in delight. “ _Can you_?”

Altair just had a big grin on his face, “What?” he asked.

Malik chuckled, “So English and Arabic is all you know?”

“Uh— no, I can speak some Italian too,” Altair admitted, “I have family there. One of  _omy_ ’s sisters married an Italian.”

“Ah,” Malik nodded, “ _I know a wee bit of Italian_ ,” and Altair looked  _so_  interested.

“ _Really_?” he asked back in Italian.

“ _Little bit_ ,” then he switched, “ _Not like French. They had no tolerance for some English speaking American.”_

 _“_ I have no idea what you just said,” Altair said smiling. Malik repeated it in English. “But that’s cool though. Even if it was awful, you got something out of it, right? That’s what… four languages? Can you speak German too?”

“ _Some_ ,” Malik said in German, “ _like hello, good morning, goodbye, which way, my name is, where’s the bathroom, I would like the beef_ , stuff like that.”

“No idea,” Altair admitted. “I’ve always wanted to learn more languages.”

“Three is nothing to scoff at,” Malik informed him.

“Yeah but  _five_. Who does that?”

Malik chuckled, “It’s really only like two, my French is pretty rusty, and I only know the basics of Italian and German.”

“You could still hold a conversation.”

“For a bit, yeah,” Malik nodded with a shrug.

“That’s still really cool though. But was it all bad? Like,  _all_  of it?” Altair prodded.

“Yes.”

Altair frowned, “I don’t believe you.”

Well Malik wasn’t going to tell him some things. That was vastly irresponsible, but Altair was right. The War had been  _awful_ , but there were some good bits. Like the girl in Paris with gams like you  _wouldn’t believe_ , and the man in Berlin with a voice like velvet. The sheer amount of  _stupid shit_  he’d done with his friends in his platoon that had sometimes almost gotten them all killed and then later they’d sit around in the rear laughing about it. Or other times when they were on leave in Paris or London or Berlin and and would walk down the street in their uniforms and despite the color of their skin people would call out to them delighted that they were there, because the color didn’t matter, they were heros to some of those people. Most of it he didn’t talk about though.

“Okay, there was some,” Malik agreed. “But you usually don’t remember the good. You only remember the bad,” he sighed.

“That’s the truth,” Altair agreed in a quiet voice. Then he abruptly changed the subject, “You miss home?”

“L.A?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“I do. It’s too cold here for starters-

“I’m sayin! No one believes me when I tell them it’s cold here,” Altair said.

Malik chuckled, “Doesn’t it get cold in Switzerland?”

“Yes. But it’s cold there too! Syria is nice, and warm… maybe a bit too warm sometimes,” he made a slight face. “Anyone back home for you?”

“Hmm?”

“You got a girl?”

“What’s it to you?” Malik teased.

“I can’t ask?” Altair rose both his brows at Malik.

“No. No one waiting for me. If there was you’d know,” if it was a girl at least. Even if they were a man Malik would have just referred to them as a woman. Perhaps not very sensitive, but he would have talked about them.

“Oh, your parents?”

“Just them. One of them,  _omy_ ’s gone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Malik waved it away, “It’s fine. We were expecting it.”

“Still, a death in the family is never easy.”

Malik shrugged, “What can you do? What about you? I’m sure the girls are  _lining up_  to get a piece of you,” he teased.

“Uhg, hardly,” Altair made a face.

“You’re full of it.”

“Nope. Any Swiss girls who fancies me is more for the novelty of it, no brown people there. Back home…”

“Back home?”

Altair sighed and ruffled his hair, “I got a girl. Arranged thing by my parents. It’s  _awful_.”

“She nice?”

“Who  _cares_?” he demanded, “It’s archaic for starters and what I want isn’t even taken into consideration  _at all_.”

“Really?”

“No! I don’t want a wife. I don’t want kids,” he pouted, “I wouldn’t…” he trailed off but Malik wasn’t quite sure as to why. “I mean, she’s nice… I guess,” he sighed, “But not what I want. My cousin visiting just made it more obvious how much I  _don’t_  want that. Him and Lucy are just  _so_  damn sweet together. They had a choice. I don’t.”

“You tell your dad?” even though Malik should be avoiding this subject  _at all costs_.

“Yeah. He says since I’m his only son I need to get over it. If I had brothers it’d be different. But I don’t and just-“ he grabbed his face and then yelped, forgetting about his bruises and proceeded to look like a kicked animal. “It kinda sucks being an only child.”

“I can sympathize,” Malik agreed. He was an only child now, but hadn’t been for seventeen years. Then Kadar had been shot. He did his best to never think of it.

“Yeah,” Altair rubbed his head, mindful of his bruises now. “Well, that was a downer. Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Malik said, “everyone needs someone to vent to, and I get the impression your cousin isn’t a sympathetic ear.”

“Oh, isn’t that the truth,” he huffed. “It just…” he groaned and looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. “It’s frustrating,” he settled for. “All of it. I don’t even want to go back to Switzerland.”

“Don’t you like your school?”

“I  _love_  my school,” that’s what Malik thought. “But basically as soon as I’m done with it I’m getting married. I’m too young for that!” he cried.

“Not really,” Malik said.

“I thought you were on my side?” Altair demanded.

“I am,” he said placatingly. “I’m always on your side. But I can see it from your dad’s point of view too. You’re his only son, and clearly girls are the  _last_  thing on your mind if you’re so worried about school and running around chasing murderers with old men like me,” what was the point of being old if you couldn’t make fun of yourself after all.

“You’re not old Malik,” Altair said, making a face.

“Regardless. He wants to make sure his son’ll be okay once he’s gone.”

Altair’s cheeks puffed up, “I guess,” he said moodily and crossed his arms over his chest, sinking back into the chair. “I feel like it’s a mad conspiracy between him and my  _geido_  though to keep me in line.”

“What? You’re wild?”

Altair nibbled his bottom lip, “Sort of. They… don’t know what to do with me. They let me leave for school instead of learning the business because I kinda… can get out of hand,” Malik believed that. “They think making me marry will make me settle down.”

“Will it?” Malik asked.

“No,” Altair said hotly. “They already burden me with a lot of responsibilities. Now this’ll just be more. I’ll have to be responsible for someone else. And then  _kids_ ,” he looked horrified by the idea. “I like kids, don’t get me wrong, but the thought of having my own is just…” he looked so absolutely wrecked by the thought of it. Like he knew something bad would happen. “Not even Desmond wants kids, and he loves his girlfriend.”

“Why doesn’t he?”

“Same reason, sorta, even though he’s got a brother, an older one. Piece of work his brother is too, doesn’t listen at all, makes  _me_  look like a saint. He’s got a kid though already, another on the way apparently too,” Altair smiled faintly and it was clear to Malik that Altair liked the  _idea_  of having kids, but something made him not actually  _want_  kids. Malik was missing a key piece of information, but he wasn’t quite sure  _what_  and he didn’t even know what to say to ask and figure it out. “He drives my uncle insane.”

“You like him?”

“Huh? Yeah, Duncan’s awesome. I… kinda wish I was more like him honestly,” he admitted, almost shyly, like he wouldn’t say it to anyone but Malik.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

“Yeah. He’s just… really cool and down to earth and for doing his own thing. He still lives near his parents, to help with the farm, but he’s got his own car-

“Which Desmond stole,” Malik said.

Altair laughed, “Yep! He’s so going to get it when he gets home too since it’s Duncan’s pride and joy.”

“It’s good he came though.”

“Yeah. It was pretty nice too,” Altair nodded. “Man, I feel like I’ve been talking about me all night,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Malik said soothingly. He didn’t mind. He wanted to know more about Altair, now more than ever really. It was nice to hear Altair talk about himself, and his family.

“No really, like all night, look at the time,” Malik looked at the clock Altair was looking at. His eyes widened a bit. When the hell did it get to be eleven at night? “I need to get back,” and Altair climbed out of the chair.

“You want me to drive you?” Malik asked.

“No, it’s okay. I can catch a cab.”

“With what money Mr. Broke-college-student?” Malik teased and again since when was Malik the guy to participate in small talk.

“Shut up,” Altair said though was grinning.

Malik walked Altair to the door. “You sure you’re okay to get home alone?” he asked, because it was late and usually after dark Malik liked to drive him back to his dorms. The killer was still at large and the victims numbered more than a dozen now. He didn’t want anything to happen to Altair, even though he was sure Altair could handle himself. He still worried, because Malik couldn’t not. He worried about people who were important to him, who he wanted to keep safe. It had served him well over the years. Especially now that he had put to name these feelings he had for Altair he didn’t want  _anything_  to happen to him.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Altair said and reached for the doorknob. He twisted it open but Malik had a bad feeling in his gut. The way Altair kept looking when he’d been talking, agonized, like there was so much he wasn’t telling Malik and he wanted to, but something stayed his tongue. Something he was afraid of. Malik didn’t want him to look like that, he wanted to keep Altair safe. His hand pushed the door closed again. “Malik?” Altair asked, confused and then Malik felt him stiffen in surprise when Malik kissed him.

He was so shocked that he did it that he pulled back immediately, “Oh god,” he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I’m so sorry,” he said again. 

Altair was just staring at him, wide eyed, open mouthed. Shit. Shit. Shit! He hadn’t meant to do that! Why did he do that? What was  _wrong_  with him!?

Then, slowly, like he was waking up from a dream, Altair licked his lips and blinked at him. “Really?” he asked.

Really? Really what? Had Malik  _really_  done that? Or was Malik really sorry? Malik stared back at him and swallowed, he hadn’t felt this scared since the War. He didn’t want to ruin this… whatever he had with Altair because of a problem with his libido that made it hard for him to look away from the kid. “I didn’t-

“Don’t,” Altair said, “Say that,” and he swallowed hard, looking focused now, but Malik had a feeling his face was mirroring Malik’s. He was terrified too. But for a different reason.

For Malik though, it clicked. “No,” Malik said softly, “not really,” and he cupped the unbruised side of Altair’s face and kissed him again. Altair sucked in a breath but did kiss him back. Altair, honestly, wasn’t the best kisser. It was sort of like kissing a block of wood actually.

Malik pulled back, Altair still had his eyes closed. Then he opened them, slowly, his lips still parter, Malik gently stroked his face. Altair let out a sort of relieved breath, “That was my first kiss,” he admitted in a very soft voice.

Well that explained why he sucked at it. “Really?” he asked with a slight grin.

“Yeah,” Altair admitted and licked his lips, a grin tugging at his lips. “Sorry,” he added, like he knew he was bad.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Malik said, leaning close so their lips almost touched. Altair’s breath hitched and Malik really had to restrain himself because this was just unfair. He shouldn’t be allowed to have this. This innocence, this beauty, it should be for someone else. But it wasn’t. “I’ll teach you,” he breathed and brushed his lips against Altair’s before kissing him gently.

This time Altair did his best to kiss him back, but clearly was letting Malik lead. Better honestly and Malik coaxed Altair’s mouth and lips into moving against his without like he wanted to eat Malik’s face, or slobbering, two things new kissers could be very guilty of. Malik knew, he’d been a face eater before he’d figured it out. Altair was a quick learner though, but Malik knew that, and soon wasn’t just a passive participator. He still let Malik lead though, clearly not wanting to do anything wrong.

Malik pushed Altair so his back was against the door, gently cupping his face in both hands. They barely came up to breathe and Malik lost track of time. Not that it mattered, Malik wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t want Altair going anywhere either. Carefully Altair slid his arms around Malik’s waist, holding onto Malik’s belt loops, as Malik gently sucked on his bottom lip before licking his way into Altair’s mouth.

Altair pulled back, “That was weird,” he said, making a face.

Malik chuckled, “Yeah, it’s kinda weird isn’t it?” because he knew it was weird the first few times, having someone else’s tongue inside your mouth.

“And you taste like cigarettes,” Altair added.

“All part of the charm,” Malik smirked at him and brushed his nose against Altair’s who positively  _giggled_. It was really cute  and Malik kissing him again on the lips because he couldn’t stay away from that mouth for another second. Altair sighed against his lips, his hands fisting the back of Malik’s waistcoat. Malik now had one arm around Altair’s waist, the other cupped the side of his neck, his thumb stroking his jaw and cheek, mindful of the bruises.

Malik licked Altair’s lower lip and they parted, but instead Malik invited Altair to him instead. He felt Altair’s hesitation and gave him a brief squeeze. It was okay, Altair was new at this, Malik wasn’t going to stop just because Altair was an awful kisser. Altair pulled away to breathe a moment and it seemed loud and he couldn’t seem to calm himself, excited, nervous, scared, enthralled, all of it. Malik kissed his face, around his lips and down his jaw to his neck. Altair’s breath caught when Malik pressed his lips behind his ear, nuzzling him, and the hand that was on his neck now at his hips and pushing up under his shirt. 

Altair’s back bowed as Malik ran his hand slowly up his chest. Altair’s stomach was flat and fairly hard, the stomach of someone who did sit ups every day and Malik smiled into Altair’s skin when it twitched and Altair didn’t seem to know what he wanted. For Malik to keep touching him or not. He nuzzled Altair’s against neck before kissing him again, making Altair sigh into his mouth.

This time Altair took Malik’s subtle invitation and cautiously slid his tongue past Malik’s lips. He felt Altair sort of flinch, no doubt finding it weird but wanting it anyway, because he didn’t stop. Malik just enjoyed it for a bit before he slid into Altair’s mouth, his hands low on Altair’s hips and sliding back and around to cup his ass, which was firm, making Altair gasp. This kid was literally something else and Malik never wanted this to be over, especially now that he was in Altair’s mouth.

They broke apart, both trying to breathe again. “Oh wow,” Altair breathed. His eyes were lidded and the pupils blown so there was only the slightest bit of nearly yellow color around the edges of his iris, and his face was flushed. It was disgustingly hot and Malik wanted to burn that the look into his brain the way Altair could so he didn’t forget anything.

“Not bad for your first kiss huh?” Malik teased him.

Altair gave him a helpless smile, “It could be worse,” he agreed and kissed Malik sweetly on the lips.

“Stay tonight,” Malik said softly, his lips were like a magnet and he didn’t want to  _stop_  kissing Altair, so they kept brushing but he held back, so he could talk.

“I shouldn’t…”

“Stay,” Malik said again, kissing Altair’s bottom lip. “Who’ll know?”

Altair bit his lower lip and looked at Malik, thinking. Then he nodded, “I want to.”

Malik smiled and peppered his lips with little kisses, pushing Altair’s shoulders against the door while also tugging his hips forward and against his own and slid both of his hands up the front of his hips under his shirt. The noise Altair made was going to ruin Malik. That was just the end of it, this kid was going to  _ruin_  him; and he didn’t mind in the slightest. Worse things happened than this.


	7. Lessons in Not Being Chaste

He felt Altair’s hands on his chest and then tugging at the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling them open with shaking fingers until they were all undone. Altair grabbed fistfuls of Malik’s shirt and pulled up, yanking the them from his pants so he could touch skin along Malik’s back and flanks. By this point Malik just had Altair pressed flush against the wall now and grabbed the kid’s wrists and pinned them by his head. Altair went up on his toes when Malik slid a thigh between his legs, a damning whine leaving his mouth.

They needed to get flat. That was all that Malik could think. Horizontal surface, like ten minutes ago. He released Altair’s wrists and his hands went down and under Altair’s thighs. Altair seemed to sense what was happening and wrapped his arms around Malik’s neck and then a moment later they tightened when Malik lifted up and supported Altair just by his own power. Thankfully he knew he could pick Altair up before hand or he’d have more reservations about attempting this. But he knew he could hold Altair and he walked them to the bed.

Malik dropped Altair onto it and the kid bounced a little before Malik was pushing him down and flat and further back onto the bed, kissing him and pushing his hand up his shirt. Altair groaned into his mouth, hands on Malik’s chest and shoulders and Malik kicked off his shoes. Altair giggled against his lips when he also pushed Altair’s off as well with his own feet.

“Ow, ow,” Altair suddenly gasped when Malik pressed his hand firmly against a point on his chest.

“What?” Malik asked.

“Hurts,” Altair wrinkled his nose and Malik looked, pushing his shirt up high. He frowned at what he saw. Like he’d thought Altair was bruised on his chest as well as his face and a good part of his right side was just a slowly fading black color.

“Who did this?” Malik demanded.

“Malik, please-

“Tell me,” he said darkly. He was going to throw whoever did this in jail after beating the shit out of them.

“It doesn’t matter okay?”

“They hurt you-

“I deserved it. Now please,” he held Malik’s face between his hands, “don’t,” he whispered and kissed Malik gently. Malik didn’t want to let it go. He really really didn’t. But he did because Altair’s lips were soft and warm and he was more interested in licking the scar on the side of Altair’s mouth when he thought about it.

Now he was careful, because he didn’t want to mess with Altair’s bruises, as they obviously hurt still. Malik pulled Altair’s t-shirt off the rest of the way and pushed it to the side of the bed. He sat up between Altair’s legs and looked down at him. The kid was flushed, eyes blown and the dark marks stood out in stark relief against his winter paled skin. Gently Malik leaned down and kissed around the edges of the big bruises on Altair’s chest. Altair whined, and his diaphragm jerked, but not in a bad way.

“Uh, Malik,” he squeaked.

“Hmmm?” Malik’s head lolled over onto the unbruised side of Altair’s chest as he looked up at him.

“Uh… okay this might sound really stupid but—“ and then he blushed furiously and couldn’t even go on.

“What?” Malik asked, sliding up and kissing him briefly, “Tell me,” he added.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Malik blinked, “Is what supposed to do what?” he was just confused honestly though that was Altair’s fault for being vague. Altair groaned and pressed a hand over his face. “Altair I don’t know if you don’t tell me,” Malik reminded him.

“Is my cock  _supposed_  to be doing that?” he asked, furiously red faced. Malik didn’t blame him honestly and he just blinked at Altair a moment. Was something wrong? Several really awful thoughts went through Malik’s head all at once but really all he could do was check. He looked down between them and used his free hand to reach and slide under Altair’s pant line. Malik squeezed, not hard, but didn’t feel anyt- “ _Oh_   _god_ ,” Altair suddenly whined in Arabic and his back arched. Malik had  _never_  seen a reaction like that before. For a second he thought it was a bad ‘oh god’ then he realized it wasn’t.

It sort of clicked in place a moment later. “Have you ever gotten hard before?” Malik asked, because that was sort of  _important information!_

“W-what?” Altair asked.

“Like this?”

“No… is that bad? Is something wrong?” he sounded very worried about the state of his cock. Malik couldn’t help it. He laughed helplessly and took his hand out of Altair’s pants. “Malik why are you laughing?” he demanded.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Malik asked, grinning down at him.

“What?” he squeaked. “You going to tell me if something’s wrong aren’t you?”

Chuckling Malik leaned down and kissed him, “Nothing’s wrong,” he promised. “It is totally, and completely normal. See?” and he grabbed Altair’s hand and pressed it between them and up against his own crotch where his erection was starting to make itself obvious to him.

“Oh,” Altair said and Malik nuzzled against the unbruised side of his face.

“Mmmhmm,” Malik said, “I can’t believe you never got this before,” and Malik let go of Altair’s hand to unbutton Altair’s blue, denim, pants. “Never?” he clarified.

“Maybe once,” Altair admitted, “I… kinda waited until it went away th-oooh,” he groaned when Malik pushed his hand down his underwear to hold onto him properly. Malik kissed his face and down his neck, using his other hand to open Altair’s pants more and pull him from his underwear. Altair whined and very clearly didn’t quite know what to make of what was going on beyond that it felt  _really_  good.

Malik shifted so he was off him, kneeling next to Altair now one hand down his pants the other curled up and under Altair’s arched back and splayed against his flank. Malik fully expected him to shoot at any second, as he could remember the first time he’d gotten off. He’d barely even touched it. Altair whined deep in his throat and seemed to swallow something back that left him trembling and he turned his head away from Malik who was kissing his neck gently.

This was taking too long.

It wasn’t that Malik was impatient. It was just sort of a fact. A guy as inexperienced as Altair should have finished already. His hand stopped and he looked at Altair who looked  _beyond_  wrecked, with a bit of sweat on his forehead and swallowing compulsively. “Hey,” Malik said and Altair looked at him, blinking a few times. “You okay?”

“I think,” he croaked.

“Do you feel like you have to go to the bathroom?” and by the flush that came to Altair’s face yes, yes he did. “You won’t.”

“You sound pretty sure,” Altair said and swallowed again, his voice rough.

“I am sure. You’ll feel better,” he promised since he also knew that, while pleasurable, edging was also the most awful thing in existence when all you wanted to do was come.

“Really?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“Really,” and Malik let his hand move again. It was over in seconds. Altair came a lot too, all over his chest. Malik just watched with interest, his hand not stopping as Altair got it all out, chest spasming as he gasped. Malik found the hand previously against Altair’s flank now twisted up in one of Altair’s hands and being squeezed. It was pretty damn incredible honestly and not just a little beautiful to see someone do so as usually by the time boys were Altair’s age they had a much more intimate relationship with their hands on parts of their bodies. Altair did not and the fact that Malik was the first one to get Altair to do  _anything_  was really hot and Malik was painfully aware of his own erection pushing against the confines of his slacks.

Altair pushed at Malik’s hand once he was done, clear that it was too much. Malik kissed his neck but let him go, enjoying watching Altair breathe and try and find a ground amid  _that_. Malik slid his arm out from under Altair and propped himself up on the elbow before reaching down and unbuttoning his pants easily. 

Altair sighed and looked over at him, he looked like he was about to melt right into the bed. Shyly he reached up and kissed Malik, Malik groaned as he took himself in hand. This kid was just unfair and Malik knew he was ruined. Not that Altair was good, he wasn’t, but the sheer fact that he was actually real just blew Malik’s mind. How did someone like this actually exist in this era? A girl he could understand. But a man? Altair’s naivety and inexperience actually appealed to Malik more than someone with experience, because he was so open and innocent and trusting. He didn’t expect or want anything from Malik and that in itself was just a bit over Malik’s head. Hell, he hadn’t even known what to do when he’d gotten an erection, and probably if Malik hadn’t done anything Altair would have just let it lie and go down without doing anything.

How the hell was Altair even alive actually?

With a grunt Malik pulled his mouth off Altair’s so he could breathe as he hand worked firmly over his own cock. He cursed softly and looked at Altair who was staring at him with his butterscotch colored eyes, going between his face and his hand not seeming to know what he wanted to look at more. Unlike however Altair Malik had plenty of experience with this sort of stuff and took more than just a bit of coaxing to come.

Thankfully Altair was all too willing to inadvertently help and started to unbutton Malik’s shirt and, after checking to make sure Malik wouldn’t mind (like hell he would!), slid a hand up against his chest. He pressed his lips against Malik’s neck and throat and up to his jaw, long fingers sliding across his stomach and that was pretty much the end. With a deep groan Malik came, hips jerking forward and made a further mess on Altair.

Panting a little Malik wrung it all out before claiming Altair’s mouth firmly and the kid whined against him. Then he parted and Malik thumped back onto his back on the bed, getting his wind back, his head was still a few inches from the pillow, his feet hanging off the bed.

“Wow,” Altair said next to him, also on his back. Malik laughed. Altair giggled and god he wanted to hear Altair do that  _all_  the time. He liked Altair’s laugh, but to hear him  _giggle…_  It did something awful to Malik. It really, really, did. “I’m all sticky,” he said after a moment.

“Give me a sec,” Malik sighed, “and we’ll clean up.”

“Okay,” and Malik felt one of Altair’s hands reach out and grasp Malik’s. There was a short stint of silence then Altair asked, “Can we do that again?”

“Yes,” Malik said and looked at him, nodding a great deal. “We can do it as much as you want,” and Altair flushed. Malik kissed his cheek and with a grunt pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at Altair properly. His chest was a mess of cum, some of it dripping off his side, most of it Altair’s own too. Good god how did someone come that much? Though he supposed it made sense if he’d been holding it in for twenty years. Malik put himself back into some sort of order, though when he stood up he just abandoned his pants and went to the bathroom, grabbing one of the towels and wetting a part of it.

Malik gently wiped off Altair’s chest, mindful of when he wiped down the part where the skin was discolored. Then he patted him dry. “Again?” Altair asked expectantly.

Malik chuckled, “Yeah. Take your pants off kid, so you don’t ruin them,” and Malik finally shrugged out of his vest and shirt sleeves.

Altair was wrestling with his pants but once he’d kicked them and his socks off and turned back to Malik his eyes widened. “Oh,” and his mouth fell open.

“Hmmm?” and then Malik looked down. Oh right. He forgot a lot about the scarring. It was just part of him and he didn’t even notice it. He had a lot of it too, all over his left side and arm and along his ribs like someone had peeled away his skin. It was a distinctly different color than the rest of his skin. Most of the people he slept with didn’t like it. “Want me to put my shirt back on?” he asked, that was usually the cure, that or they turned the lights off. But Malik wanted to see Altair so lights out was out of the question.

“What?” Altair started, “No, it’s fine just… oh Malik,” and he looked incredibly upset by Malik’s scars. “What happened?” gingerly he reached out and touched Malik’s flank. The scarred skin didn’t feel any different than the rest of his skin and other than it being a different shade it was impossible to tell one patch of skin from another simply by touch.

“The War happened,” and Altair looked at him with big eyes. “It’s fine. Old wound, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he promised.

“At all?”

“Nope,” Malik shook his head.

“How?” Altair was still trying to rationalize the amount of scarring and trauma on Malik’s body.

“Land mine, I was stuck in the rear for a few months healing up.” Altair stared at him, at his chest, then at him again.  “If you don’t like them I can put my shirt back on,” Malik said again.

“No,” Altair said, shaking his head, “No… it’s fine. Really.”

“You sure? Most people don’t like them.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Altair said, still staring, “You just surprised me is all.”

“Ah,” Malik nodded and let Altair continue to examine his scarred chest. In the beginning he’d hated them and everything about them. They were big and ugly and made him look like two halves sewn together to make a whole. But it had been almost ten years and Malik had learned to live with them so that when he looked in the mirror after a shower he didn’t feel the need to hide under the towel or his shirt. All he saw was him. They were him and as his psyche was damaged so was he. There was no more a perfect representation of the war battered veteran than Malik, the old undamaged skin his self before the war, and the scar tissue the damaged wreck he’d come home as. He didn’t see anything ugly in them anymore.

He started in surprise when Altair, tentatively, leaned forward and pressed his lips to part of the scar tissue on his upper chest.  His lips were soft against his skin as Altair slowly traced invisible lines on Malik’s skin, going between regular skin and scarred without hesitation. Malik had never had this happen before and he just sat on the bed and let it happen, mesmerized by the fact that it was even happening.

Altair crawled into his lap and kissed his way up from Malik’s chest to his jaw and then to his lips. Malik pulled Altair to him and squeezed Altair’s ass firmly. He could feel Altair’s barely contained enthusiasm in his lips and knew he might have just shot himself in the foot. Malik was getting on in his years and Altair was a young, energetic, sexually stunted man until about ten minutes ago. And just like any young man when he found out that his penis felt really good when he touched it he was eager to make it do it  _a lot_. Malik knew he couldn’t do it nearly as much as Altair would be up for, even though he’d just started.

Malik hadn’t anticipated that.

Shit.

Altair was straddling Malik’s legs, kissing him, touching him. Malik just sort of went with it, not much else he could do really. He let his hands wander over Altair’s flanks and ribs and the curve of his spine, which arched at his touch. Altair nuzzled him, his head on his shoulder before prodding Malik’s hand down. What he wanted was obvious and Malik wrapped his fingers around Altair’s cock, which wasn’t soft or hard, but in between. Altair groaned against his neck when Malik did that and shifted Altair around so he was sitting with his back to Malik.

“Gimmie your hand,” Malik said and Altair did. Malik had his face in Altair’s neck as he spoke, he didn’t need to look. “Like this, okay?” and he guided Altair’s hand over Altair’s cock and Altair’s breath hitched as Malik basically helped Altair play with himself. Altair got hard again quickly. “And lower,” he breathed into Altair’s ear and Altair positively  _squirmed_  when Malik toyed with his balls, still guiding Altair’s hand. Malik tugged on Altair’s ear lobe when, just from that, Altair came again. He had a feeling this was going to be the pattern for the night honestly.

Malik just gently kissed Altair’s neck and shoulder while Altair came down, panting. “How-“ but he hadn’t caught hit breath enough and took another few seconds. “How come I do that so fast, and you don’t?” Altair asked Malik.

“Endurance,” was really the only answer. “You have none, I have a lot. You’ll work up to lasting,” he promised and nuzzled him.

“Oh,” Altair breathed, “Okay.” A short pause, “Again?”

Malik chuckled, “Sure,” and Malik shifted a little behind him. “Feel good though?”

“A lot,” Altair dropped his head back onto Malik’s shoulder.

Malik chuckled. He left Altair’s cock alone though, knowing the kid would be too sensitive right now. Instead he slid his hands along his thighs, the outside and then inside and up his chest. The hair he did have was soft and he didn’t really have any on his chest, but did lower towards his groin. Malik knew he’d get it eventually, he himself had been pretty clean until his mid twenties. It’d go a long way to making Altair not look like jail bait.

“Hey Malik,” Altair asked.

“Hmm?” Malik grunted from where he was methodically sucking a red mark onto Altair’s neck. Another bruise, one Malik liked though, because he made it.

“This’ll sound dumb-

“Just ask,” Malik said, nuzzling his neck gently.

“Okay well… is it just there?” and despite being as vague as a white sheet of paper Malik understood.

“Mostly,” he said. “Some people are sensitive here,” and he reached up and squeezed one of Altair’s nipples. Altair gave a grunt, but not one that was particularly turned on.

“Yeah not really,” Altair said.

Malik shrugged, “Me neither. Some people like it though. This feels good though,” and he ran his hand down Altair’s chest. Altair’s back bowed a little and Malik didn’t mind the mess it made on his hand. “And this,” he gave Altair’s cock a gentle squeeze, making him whine, “and this,” his balls too. “And some guys like this too,” and he pushed Altair’s hips out a bit as his hand went  _lower_  and pressed against Altair’s perineum. He watched Altair’s leg twitch at that.

“Oh,” Altair said in a high, breathy, voice. “I clearly have parts I didn’t know I had,” and Malik laughed at that.

“Most people don’t even know it’s there,” Malik assured him. Malik hadn’t, until he’d been with a man for the first time. Altair wriggled in his lap a little as Malik gave the perineum attention, also bumping his sack as he did so just from proximity before pushing a bit more down. “And here too.”

“T-there?” Altair yelped when Malik pressed against the tight ring of muscle of his anus.

“Some guys like it,” Malik shrugged and let off, since clearly it freaked Altair out. Understandable.

“I don’t think I’m nearly experienced enough to worry about that yet,” Altair said. Malik chuckled. “But I-

“Yes?” Malik asked gently, his hands on either side of Altair’s thighs.

“This isn’t a one night deal right?”

“I’d hope not,” Malik said very matter of factly and ran one hand along the inside of Altair’s thigh.

“I kinda… wanna try everything,” Altair admitted, face flushed.

“Okay,” Malik said and kissed his jaw gently.

“Well that was a lot painless then I thought it’d be.”

“You thought it’d be?”

“I’m… kinda at your mercy,” Altair said and from the sound in his voice it sounded like he  _liked_  it. “If you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t really… know,” he said, embarrassing at what he was saying but more because he wasn’t saying exactly what he was meaning. Malik understood though. Malik could easily take advantage of the fact that Altair was new at this, painfully so in fact.

“I wouldn’t,” Malik promised and kissed his neck gently. “We’ll go slow,” he added.

“Okay,” Altair swallowed.

“Ready to go again?” he asked, hand drifting back to Altair’s cock.

“Yeah!” and Malik chuckled at Altair’s enthusiasm as he wrapped his hand around the kid’s cock again and got to hear that sweet, damning, noise he made.

—

It was early when Malik pried his eyes open, and then closed them again when light streamed into the hotel room via the windows. Shit he hadn’t closed the curtains last night.

Well that had been a weird dream. He needed to not have sex dreams about people he worked with, it made working with them difficult unless they could work it out. And by work it out he meant had sex. People would be surprised how often that happened actually, especially since Malik was two sorts of taboo. He was brown, and he was an upper brass cop.

Still, sex dreams were never a good sign. Especially about his kid kriminalist. That needed to stop right now. He promised himself he’d lay off the bourbon before bed. He thought maybe he should go into the bathroom and get off, but weirdly he didn’t feel the need.

His arm was sore and hard to move. He needed to get up and go take a shower, get ready for the day. He tried to move his arm, it wouldn’t budge. Then he opened his eyes and saw what the problem was. It was because Altair was sleeping on it.

It took a very long time for his brain to figure that one out.

Right. Sex dream. Not a dream. Actually had sex. Okay. That was good. Right? It had felt  _pretty damn good_  at the time.

Altair shifted a little and pressed up closer against him, his lips parted slightly in sleep. Well shit this was just unfair. Malik didn’t have it in him to get it up though, too early and too tired from last night. Good  _god_  last night had actually happened. No wonder he didn’t feel the need to go rub one out after a ‘dream’ like that.

His arm was still sore though. “Hey,” Malik said and gently nudged the kid. They grunted but didn’t wake. “Altair,” he said and nudged him again. He whined and cracked his eyes open, “Can I have my arm back?” he asked. Altair just made a noise in his throat and rolled off him and onto the pillows, away from Malik.

Malik’s arm back where it belonged he sat up and looked at the man sleeping next to him. Altair was naked and sleeping on his side. Malik’s eyes traced the curve of Altair’s spine before he nearly slapped his cheeks. Clean up. Shower. Coffee. In that order.

He got out of bed and wandered over to the table where the remains of Altair’s dinner from last night had been. He piled it up onto the tray and left it outside, also hanging the ‘do not disturb’ sign up on the doorknob. He then called room service and ordered enough breakfast for two people,  _including_  coffee. Once that was done he went and took a shower. It felt good and he washed away the sweat and other dried fluids off his body.

As he was stepping out of the shower, a towel around his waist, there was a polite knock on the door. Malik draped a towel over his shoulders to help hide the scarring on his chest and got the door. It was breakfast and the newspaper. They handed him the tray and he gave them a dime as a tip. They left with a grin and he put the fresh food on the table. Malik poured himself coffee and took a sip before heading back towards the bed. Malik dressed while Altair slept on and as he was buttoning his vest he saw it.

Altair’s notebook was on the ground, open on a blank page. Malik looked at Altair. The kid was still asleep. Malik picked up the notebook and flipped through it. The first few pages were totally illegible and the words had been blotted out with a brush and ink. Though Malik supposed that if your memory was photographic there wasn’t much need for notes. But that was only about five pages. There were other pages filled with lists, the words written in some cluster fuck of English, Italian, Swiss, and Arabic. There was about three pages of that sort of garbled list.

Page nine had a heading and that was it. ‘Malik al-Sayf’ it said in clear Arabic and then underlined about a million times so that the line was thick and black and messy. There was nothing else on the page. On the back of page nine was a strange drawing that could have been a person, or it could have been a bear on two legs and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. Pages ten through fifteen were strange geometric and organic shapes that all had a focus point to them before exploding across the rest of the page in intricate lines and shapes. Page sixteen had the word ‘no’ written all over it in four languages (or he assumed so, he didn’t know Swiss). 

Page seventeen was another drawing. This time it was very clearly a person. The figure was scratchy and horrible looking, screaming at the sky with sharp black teeth and huge white eyes. It looked like it was melting and was really creepy. The next page had several red ink smears on it. The one after that was like the first five pages, though Malik could make out the clause ‘so much trouble’.

The rest of the book was blank. Malik frowned at it deeply and looked through it again. There didn’t appear to be any missing pages and this  _was_  the book he always saw Altair writing in when they were at a crime scene. He was seemingly always taking notes too. So where were they? Malik looked back at Altair. He was still sleeping peacefully. He closed the notebook and picked up Altair’s clothes, folding them up and put them on the end of the bed, the notebook on top.

Malik was enjoying his second cup of coffee and reading the sports section when Altair woke with a groan. The first word out of his mouth was “Breakfast?”

Malik chuckled, “Yes. Come and have some,” he called, flipping the page. Altair stumbled out and bed and Malik’s brows rose when Altair came into view. He was still naked and sat on the floor in front of the table, and grabbed a bagel, proceeding to slather cream cheese on it. “What? No modesty in the morning?” Malik chuckled though was eyeing him rather obviously over the top of his paper.

Altair had his mouth around the bagel when he froze and looked at Malik out of the corner of his eye. Then he realized Malik was teasing him and bit down. Once he’d cleared his throat he said, “Why should I? You’ve already seen me naked,” though as he said it he flushed.

“I have,” Malik agreed in a way that made Altair’s ears turn red.

“Uh-“ and Altair busied himself with his breakfast, eating the eggs Malik had ordered and drinking the orange juice, though ignored the coffee. “Okay,” Altair said in a sort of tone like he was working himself up so he didn’t feel like he sounded like an idiot. Malik knew it had something to do with sex because all young men sounded like that when they had to ask embarrassing questions about sex. “I’m kinda new to this whole ‘my penis does really amazing things’ club,” and he was resolutely  _not_  looking at Malik as he said that. Malik just leaned against the arm of the couch, holding his chin in one hand, paper in his lap. “But I am pretty sure I shouldn’t want to do it again right now,” now he looked at Malik, “right?”

“Again? I’m surprised you’re even awake,” Malik admitted, since it was nine am and after last night he expected Altair to sleep till noon.

Altair blushed furiously. “So it is weird,” he said.

“I didn’t say that,” Malik soothed. He tried to remember what he was like at twenty. He was plenty horny all the time, but not like this. But then he’d also had more then five years of learning some restraint. So further back, a bit more difficult to remember. Thirteen years old and Malik had figured out what his imam hadn’t wanted him to figure out. And yeah, he pretty much wanted to touch it  _all the time_. So actually, this might be pretty normal.

“Really?” apparently Malik had said that last bit out loud.

“Yeah. It’s fine. It’s fine for someone who’s been sexually repressed and now isn’t to want to do it,” right? God he hoped so and he wasn’t giving Altair bad information. What did you say to a virgin like Altair though? … Well! He wasn’t a virgin anymore, but that was beside the point, he basically was still.

“Hmmm,” Altair ate more, “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked Malik.

“Already did,” Malik said pointing at a small plate where a bagel had been.

“…But there’s an entire other plate,” Altair was subtly eyeing it too.

“I know.”

Altair gave him a look, “You specifically ordered two plates of breakfast with the intention of me eating both of them,” it wasn’t a question. So Malik didn’t answer. “You’re kinda an asshole you know that?”

Malik chuckled, “Sticks and stones, kid. Now eat your breakfast. When you’re done go take a shower.”

“What? Are you my dad now?” Altair rolled his eyes at him, but did pick up the second plate.

“No. It’s just in my interests to see you healthy,” he smirked and rubbed his foot against Altair’s thigh. Altair didn’t look at him but Malik knew his meaning was understood by the set of his shoulders. “And you’re always hungry. I figured you could use a real breakfast since the only time I hear about you eating if when you’re with me,” he teased.

“I eat, thanks,” Altair grumbled as he pushed more eggs into his mouth. “Do I have to take a shower?” he asked.

“… Yes.” Altair looked at him, giving him a look not even Malik could deny. “Oh. After,” he smiled a bit. Altair finished eating and drank the rest of the juice while Malik finished reading about the White Sox. He looked over the top of his paper when he heard Altair stand and watched him unfold like some sort of Greek bronze statue come to life. 

Malik pretended to read his paper, then Altair grabbed the top of it and he looked up, doing his best to not look amused. “I promise I’m a lot more interesting than the newspaper,” Altair told him and good god why did he have to be naked  _already_? It was too early in the morning for this and Malik was too old to have sex before noon.

“Promise?” Malik asked.

“Yes,” and Altair pulled the paper away and slid into Malik’s lap. Despite it being too early for a man Malik’s age to be having sex his dick was  _very_  interested with having Altair in his lap. Good to know he wasn’t  _that_  old yet.


	8. Umar

Malik honestly hadn’t expected Altair’s dorms to look like this. It was more like an apartment, with a small kitchen that had an oven and stove and sink, though no ice box, and a tiny common area where three chairs had been stuffed into, next to a window overlooking the grounds. There were four doors leading off the entire thing, four bedrooms, the bathrooms were all down the hall. 

It had been a surprisingly nice day out, for Chicago in the spring. But spring would be ending soon and not even Lake Michigan could stay icy all year. They’d gone out talking to people for the case as well as some others that day before Altair got distracted by a chalk artist on the sidewalk and they’d ended up staying there a few hours somehow. Altair was surprisingly talented at drawing and while he’d been all on board getting on his hands and knees and getting messy Malik was both too old and too well dressed to do so. Altair didn’t hold it against him.

Through a strange turn of events where the weather had shifted unpredictably, they ended up here, in Altair’s dorm/apartment. Altair had vanished into his room and come out with some towels and Malik was currently drying off after being almost soaked to the bones. Stupid Chicago weather.

“Well that was fun,” Altair said, sarcastic.

“Loads,” Malik said dryly, having taken off his jacket and waist coat. Altair took them and put them somewhere to dry. “You have anything I could wear?” he asked.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Altair said. “You’re not my size.”

“Yeah well, this shirt is fun to wear,” Malik motioned to his shirt which was damp enough to be annoying, though didn’t quite cling to his skin.

“You could just take it off,” Altair grinned at him.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Malik asked as Altair slid up to and against his front.

“Maybe,” Altair said as he slid his hands up Malik’s chest and unbuttoned the first few buttons.

“Do you even _have_ an off switch?” though he knew the answer to that.

“No,” Altair said, still grinning. “Not with you,” and he bit his lip and damn didn’t it do bad things to Malik. Though after nearly three weeks after that first night Malik had found that really; Altair _didn’t_ have an off switch. He just kept going, and going, and Malik was too old to have this active a sex life. As much as he liked sex and getting off he usually got tired out before Altair did.

“You might actually kill me,” Malik said.

“No I wouldn’t,” Altair promised.

“Where’re your roommates?”

“It’s Friday. Fred’s with his girl, Andy goes home on the weekends, and Mitchell works.”

“So we’re all alone here?”

“Yeap.”

“What? Wanted a chance to defile all the flat surfaces in your dorm?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a flat surface has been defiled in this place,” Altair said.

“…Oh.”

“I walked in on Fred once. Not fun.”

“Wonderful, and a boner killer,” he gently pushed Altair off him. Altair pouted at him a little. “Find me a shirt.”

“Only if, while I am, you aren’t wearing one,” Altair said delightfully.

Malik chuckled, “Okay,” and he finished unbuttoning his shirt, undid the cuffs, and shrugged off his shirt. Altair barely even glanced at his mutilated torso. 

“You sure we can’t defile _one_ surface?” Altair asked.

“Find me a shirt,” Malik said sternly. Altair pouted at him, but went back into his room.

“Come in, so I can see,” Altair called.

“Altair-

“So I can see if it _fits_ ,” he could hear the roll of Altair’s eyes. So Malik went. Altair’s bedroom was tiny. There was room for his bed, a small desk, a chair, and that was it. The dresser was _inside_ his closest the room was so small. He had a light on his little desk and a stack of books a foot tall on it. A similar stack was on the floor next to it. The walls were bare and the sheets were white, even the big fluffy, comforter he could see peaking out from under it. But not everything was white on the bed.

“You actually have a plush?” Malik asked and picked it up from where it was set in front of Altair’s pillows. “What are you, a girl?”

Altair turned around from where he was going through his hung shirts, “Put that down,” he said sharply.

Malik half laughed, “You’re ridiculous.”

“My aunt gave it to me when I left for school,” Altair said.

“Do you sleep with it?”

“Well… I don’t… normally sleep here,” and he flushed. No he didn’t. He usually ended up at Malik’s hotel room.

“Did you?”

“Why do you care?”

“It’s a big, red, rabbit plush Altair,” Malik teased him.

“Yeah so?” Altair demanded. “I get lonely sometimes.”

With that the teasing was over. “Oh,” he said. Right. Duh. Way to be completely insensitive. He sometimes forgot that Altair was alone here in America. “You didn’t name it though did you?” Altair’s silence told him the answer. “What’s it’s name?”

“You’re making fun of me,” Altair said, sounding very hurt now.

Malik opened his mouth to deny it. But he was. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t really matter. I’m just surprised. I mean-“ he cut himself off, he didn’t want to dig himself into a deeper hole. Especially by that look on Altair’s face that he was. “Ooookay, I’m just going to stop talking now,” he said and refused to look at Altair’s stuffed rabbit. “So, can I get that shirt?” he asked.

Altair gave him a slightly narrow-eyed look but turned back to the closest. After a moment he pulled out a shirt, “Maybe this’ll fit you,” he took the shirt off the hanger and went over to Malik and pressed it against his chest to see the size. “It’d be tight,” he frowned, “but it’d fit. This is the biggest shirt I have,” he added.

“Let me try it,” Malik said and took the shirt. It wasn’t buttoned. He didn’t say anything about it, Malik didn’t like shirts without buttons. At least not on him, he liked Altair in them quite a bit actually. But not on him. But he didn’t want to wear his damp shirt so he pulled it on. It was tight, as Altair had said it would be, but it did fit. Malik was just thicker than Altair, he couldn’t help it.

“Oh,” Altair said.

“What?”

“It’s tight,” he said.

“Yeah, you said it would be,” Malik frowned down at the white shirt.

“I like it,” Altair proclaimed. Malik gave him a look. “What?” he grinned. “It makes it obvious you have shoulders,” and he slid his hands up Malik’s chest to his shoulders.

“You realize it isn’t even dark out yet, right?” Malik asked him.

Altair looked out his single window, it was still raining hard, “Looks dark enough to me,” Altair grinned at him.

“I think you only like me for my body,” Malik teased him, though did wrap his arms around Altair’s waist.

“It’s so nice though,” Altair said sweetly. Malik liked when Altair’s breath caught as Malik grabbed his ass _firmly_ with both hands. “What were you saying?”

“That I’m going to knock that stupid rabbit off that bed and put you there instead,” Malik growled at him a little and Altair flushed quite a bit. But didn’t say not to. So Malik pushed him towards the bed and kissed him sweetly. 

He was always gentle with Altair, even if he sometimes talked rough. After almost three weeks Altair was still sprouting new and old bruises. Malik had first thought that they were from Altair getting into fights, he now knew they weren’t. They were systematic in their placement, nowhere that was visible, yet would always be painful, so that even if you couldn’t see them Altair could feel them under his clothes. He rarely sported bruises on his face anymore, but when he did they were also bad, the last one had made his eye swell shut a little. Malik had stopped asking where he got them, Altair wouldn’t tell him, so he just stopped asking. But it meant that Malik was gentle with him, never too rough or too pushy so Altair knew that there were people who wouldn’t beat the crap out of him for seemingly no reason.

He’d just pushed Altair down onto the bed when there was suddenly a knocking on the front door. “Uh…” Malik looked towards the door.

“Altair! Altair open the door!” someone called.

“That’s Desmond,” Altair said and pushed Malik off him.  With a sigh he rolled off the bed and padded out of the bedroom. Malik only sort of followed, and leaned against the door jamb. Altair opened the door.

“Oh thank god I was so af-“ then Desmond caught sight of Malik. He was dripping, the bill of his hat letting fat drops thud onto the carpeted floor outside the door. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, staring at Malik.

“It was raining outside,” Altair said, “it was closer to my dorms then-

“Can I _talk_ to you,” Desmond said, giving Altair a hard look.

“Sure,” Altair leaned against the door but didn’t move.

“ _Alone_.”

Altair sighed. “Fine,” he looked back at Malik. “Be right back,” and he stepped out into the hall with Desmond.

Curiosity propelled Malik’s body forward before he realized it was happening and he carefully put his ear up to the door in time to hear someone get smacked. “What is _wrong_ with you?” he heard Desmond say and he wanted to wrench the door open and punch the kid for hitting Altair. Though clearly without the brutal force needed to put those marks all over him.

“Me? You just hit me!” Altair hissed back.

“Because you’re being stupid. Do you _like_ getting in trouble?” Desmond demanded.

“I’m handling it.”

“No you’re not. You’re behind still and now _this_. You’re… you’re _helping_ _them_.”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one. It’s what we _do_. You’re too young, you don’t get it. We _need_ to be in on it. If we aren’t it makes it hard to move around.”

Desmond was quiet for a moment, “Does he trust you?”

“Yes.”

“That is literally the only good thing that’s come out of this.”

“I’m enjoying it.”

“Altair, this is _dangerous_. You’re going to push him too far. He’s not happy you haven’t stopped.”

“I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to do. _This_ is why I went to school. Just like Z. You have no idea what you’re talking about Desmond. You don’t even know what it’s like at all. Duncan's made sure to shelter you from a lot of it.”

“If you’re _supposed_ to be doing this then _why_ does he keep hurting you?” and Malik’s hands tightened into a fist. Who? Say a name Desmond.

“Because, I’m…” a door opened nearby. They didn’t say anything for several moments.

“There’s a meeting tonight. You missed the last one. He’s _furious_.”

“Good.”

“You better show up Altair.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll drag you to it. I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore. Do you think I like watching him do that to you?”

“I’m not going to stop.”

“Uhg… Fine. Just… _fine_. I’m done trying to help you Altair. You’re my cousin, I love the heck out of you. But I can’t watch you keep destroying yourself.”

“It’s worth it,” Altair said softly.

“How? Tell me how the hell disobeying him constantly is worth it?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d judge me for it.”

“Your my blood. I don’t care.”

“I’m a homosexual.”

There was a very, _very_ , long silence. “I was expecting a lot of things. That wasn’t one of them,” Desmond said. Malik hadn’t been expecting that either honestly. It was blunt and out there and Altair didn’t beat around the bush. Malik hadn’t even told _his_ parents like that. He’d barely told them honestly, he just knew they knew. “Okay… well…”

“I see you judging me.”

“I’m not, I’m not! Not for that. Just… he’s like old enough to be your dad.”

“We can’t all grow up with the loves of our lives,” Altair said, bitter.

“Okay… okay… fuck… Altair, just come to the meeting tonight. Okay? Please?”

Altair took a moment to answer, “Fine. And you can’t tell _anyone_ what I just told you.”

“Who the hell would believe me? Everyone’d be ready too deny it straight off the bat. I mean, you’re an only child you can’t be… you know.”

“Yeah… I know,” Altair said, sounding sad. “I’ll come.”

“Thank you.”

Altair sighed, “I’ll see you later,” and there was silence. For some reason Malik imagined them hugging. He quickly backed off the door and went back into Altair’s room. He was sitting on the bed again as Altair opened the door though it took a solid minute for Altair to come into the bedroom. Malik was keenly aware of the silence and distance in the small dorm area. 

Then Altair was in the doorway. “Sorry about that,” Altair said with a smile.

“No problem. What did Desmond want?”

“Oh, just a get together with some people he knows here.”

“He knows people here?”

“Yeah,” Altair nodded. “He’s been here a month, plenty of time to make friends,” and he slid into Malik’s lap, straddling his thighs, though now without the hint of wanting to fool around.

“Ah. You going too?”

It was hard to see Altair’s face this close and at this angle, “Yeah,” he said. “It isn’t till later though,” he opened his mouth, clearly to ask something, but closed it.

“What?” Malik asked, gently smoothing his hand across Altair’s jaw.

“Would you mind staying until I got back? It shouldn’t take long. An hour or two, if that.”

“Sure,” Malik said. He didn’t mind, and beyond that he’d heard what they’d said. He knew Altair was going to get hurt tonight at whatever ‘meeting’ this was. He didn’t want Altair to have to get beaten and then come home to nothing.

“Thanks. There’s a common room downstairs if you wanna go there. They have a radio, I don’t,” he looked around his bare room sheepishly.

“Okay,” Malik said and leaned back on the bed so he hit the wall. Altair shifted in his lap before hugging him, leaning on Malik’s chest. Malik looped his arms around Altair.

‘Does he trust you?’ 

‘Yes.’

The thought came out of nowhere and it left a bad feeling in Malik’s mouth. Why would Desmond care? How was it a good thing? So much about the conversation hadn’t made sense, because Malik was hearing it while missing a key piece of information, and he couldn’t ask Altair what it was. If he did he’d have to admit to eavesdropping. Something made him feel uncomfortable about the entire thing. Yeah, Malik trusted Altair, he was a good kid, smart, witty, handsome, and always had something interesting to say. He could make _Malik_ participate in small talk too, and flirt; two things Malik didn’t do. But it was easy with Altair. It was just easy and Malik didn’t know why. Something about Altair made Malik want to talk to him, get to know him, and comfort him when he was hurt.

Altair had his head on Malik’s chest, gently stroking one finger on his chest by Altair’s face, saying nothing, but clearly liking the warm feeling of Malik against him. “You okay?” Malik asked.

“Yeah,” Altair said, turning to look at him with a slight smile.

“You sure? You can tell me.”

Altair’s smile became slightly strained, “Yeah, I’m okay,” he sighed and sat up, both hands on Malik’s chest. “I have finals coming up though soon, kinda stressing about that in general.”

“Those are big tests, right?” because Malik didn’t really know, he’d never gone to college.

“Yeah,” Altair nodded. “They determine if I pass or fail a class basically.”

“I see,” Malik nodded. “You’ll do fine,” he said and rubbed Altair’s lower back comfortingly.

“I hope so.”

“I thought you were good at school?”

“I am but… I always worry about tests. It’s just… I can’t fail.”

“You won’t fail,” Malik told him. “You’re sharp as a tack, no way you could fail.”

Altair smiled a relieved smile and Malik felt like he was missing something, or that they weren’t talking about school as much as Malik thought they were. The thought barely had time to settle before Altair was kissing him. In two and a half weeks he was now a _much_ better kisser. Malik liked it, and liked that just like everything Altair did was enthusiastic and energetic about it, and he was always _so_ into kissing Malik. He’d never had someone so into just being into making out before.

Malik sat up and lifted Altair up just a little so he could move to another, easier to be in position, since the wall wasn’t the best thing at that angle. It got Altair to shove him back onto the pillows and Malik cupped the back of his neck and slid up under the back of Altair’s shirt. There was still no more need to fool around vibe coming from Altair, he just wanted to kiss. Frankly Malik was _all_ for.

They ended up with Altair just snuggled up against Malik’s chest, laying on him neatly. Malik’s hand was splayed under under Altair’s shirt, against his ribs. He could feel Altair’s ribs through his skin, something he’d been trying to fix and in three weeks he made sure Altair ate three meals every day. Altair was on an unhealthy, one meal, maybe two meals, a day diet until Malik had come into the picture. That was just… unacceptable. Altair didn’t complain when Malik took him out to eat and let him get anything he wanted.

Altair dozed on Malik’s chest. It wasn’t too bad, Altair wasn’t too heavy. The bed wasn’t long enough for Malik’s frame though and his shoes hung off the end of the bed. Malik let his eyes slide half closed, gently running his hand along Altair’s ribs, the other Altair had arrested and was now twisted in Altair’s hand on the white bed spread. Altair’s silly stuffed rabbit had been knocked onto the floor with one of the stacks of the books.

The rain didn’t stop.

It was darker when Altair finally picked himself up off Malik with a grunt, leaning down and briefly kissing him into proper wakefulness. Malik blinked a few time groggily. He’d actually fallen asleep hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a nap in the middle of the day. “Hey,” Altair said, it was dim in the room, the light off, the only light coming in from the half open door where the kitchen light was on, and the lights from outside, the light wet and gray coming from the window. Altair was edged in gold from the light from the kitchen. Altair laughed suddenly. “You’re so lame,” he said.

Malik had said that gold bit aloud. Huh. He didn’t think he was like that. “You leaving?” Malik asked.

Altair nodded, “It’s six. The thing starts at seven and it’ll take me half hour to get there.”

“Okay,” Malik yawned, stretching and as he settled Altair took possession of his mouth, his tongue against his for a brief instant before it was gone, so quick Malik wasn’t even sure it had ever been there at all.

“You’ll stay right?” Altair asked, like he was scared Malik would say no.

“Yeah, I’m staying,” Malik reassured him, running the back of his knuckles across Altair’s jaw. “I’ll order some food and read or something.”

“Radio’s downstairs,” Altair reminded him. “Also a pool table.”

“Ah. Okay. I’ll be here when you get back,” Malik said, they were speaking softly, words echoing the pale light from the window.

Altair licked his lips, scouring Malik’s face with his eyes. Not like Altair could forget, not with his memory. “I’ll only be a few hours,” Altair promised.

“I’ll be here,” Malik said and tipped his head up to bump their noses together. Altair smiled at him and then sat up and got off him. Malik felt like he could breathe properly again without Altair’s weight on his chest, he sat up. Altair went to his closet, yanking off his shirt as he did. Malik could see the ghost of bruises on his winter paled skin and Malik wanted to put his hands on them and smooth the hurts away. Altair pulled on another shirt, black, with buttons and then stood up on his tip toes and grabbed a white coat from the top shelf of the closet. He pulled it on, the sound of the zipper distinct along with several black buttons to keep the flap in place. The coat had a tall neck and a hood and tails.

“Some clothes,” Malik said, eyeing him.

Altair grimaced, “Don’t ask. It’s dumb.”

“Heh, okay,” Malik said. 

Altair picked up his stuffed rabbit, holding it in the crook of his arm as he picked his keys up from his desk and took one off. “Here,” he handed Malik the key. “It’s to the front door. Don’t lose it, I only have one.”

“Sure,” Malik said and tucked it into his pocket.

Altair frowned and hugged his red rabbit, staring out the window. It was still raining, but significantly less. Then, with a sigh, he put the rabbit on his desk against his stack of books. “Don’t wreck my room,” he added to Malik sternly.

Malik rolled his eyes, “Like I would,” Malik said.

Altair nodded and leaned down. Clearly it was meant to be brief but Malik didn’t let the kiss be chaste and held the back of Altair’s neck. Instead it lingered and Altair’s fingers curled in Malik’s hair and he could taste Altair’s lips and tongue at his leisure. When Malik let him go Altair was flushed, his lips slightly red and wet and for some reason he looked a lot calmer. He ran his hands through Malik’s hair once more and then down his neck and across his shoulders. “Okay, I’m going,” and then he turned and left. Malik watched him go, and couldn’t help but enjoy watching Altair walk away. He was sure Altair wasn’t aware his hips did that. But they _swayed_. 

Then he was gone, and Malik was alone.

—

Malik had a surprising amount of will power. When Altair left he laid in bed for a bit longer before getting up and going downstairs. He used the phone there, calling for delivery service. Hoagies because Malik was starving and Altair was a typical American teenager despite not being American and liked hamburgers and pizza though if Malik saw either of those things again for a while he was going to be ill. No liquor either.

He waited for his sandwiches and fries in the common room, which was Friday night empty, everyone going out into the city to party. Malik could therefore tune the radio to what he wanted. He listened to a drama until his food came and finished the drama while he ate.

But that still left time to kill and Malik felt strange and out of place in this building which was nothing but white boys who were eyeing him in unfriendly manners. So he went back to Altair’s room. He looked over the books Altair had, maybe do some reading. Except…

Except they were all science books, the kinds without pictures and small font and in general not good reading. All the covers made them look interesting though with colorful covers. But they were lies. It was just a lot of words and jargon he didn’t understand and some with words so big he was sure they were making it up.

So leafing through Altair’s books were out.

There was nothing else of interest on the desk but Altair’s red rabbit. Malik was steadfastly _not_ looking at it either because it was a fucking stuffed animal and that was for children and girls. He was in a relationship with a man who slept with a damn stuffed animal. It did nothing but remind him of the gaping age gap between him and Altair. Altair was a _child_ , and Malik was a perverted old man.

Well that was a train of thought he hadn’t wanted to have.

Desk bare of anything of interest he went to the closet. Top drawer of the dresser was delicates, next drawer was pants, the bottom was winter clothes. All his shirts were hung, even the t-shirts. 

There was a box on the dresser, it had a lock on it though. There were also _more_ fucking books here. Not only was he in a relationship with a man, and a child, but also clearly bookworm and a bit of a goon. Fabulous. He boredly looked through those books. More scientific and medical books. He should just take an-

As he was opening one book he found it had been hollowed out on the inside. Inside was a smaller book, simple, black leather, with a red symbol on the front like an A, or a compass, a sickle curve under it. Malik picked it out of the book and opened it. It was filled with… scribbles?

No really, that was what it looked like. Scribbles. It reminded Malik a lot of the notebook Altair took notes in for their case actually. Only worse. He couldn’t read any of it though the poor, mangled, characters were vaguely Arabic. There were pictures in it too. Ones of swords and water and girls, boys too. There were crowds and sometimes people were made of the characters. None of the people had faces though, and there were no animals. It was really bizarre actually. The little book wasn’t full and the last page sort of freaked him out.

It was his name, his first name, written over and over and over again all over the page, front and back. The word was written in English and Arabic and that’s why he knew what was on it. It was more than a little creepy in the book with the words he couldn’t read and the pictures of people without faces and all those knife edges.

Malik closed the book and put it back into the hollowed out book and put them both back. As he did he uncovered another book, one that wasn’t a medical or scientific. His brows went up at seeing it. It was a Q’ran. He hadn’t seen one of these in a while. His parents still practiced, Malik did not. He hadn’t since he’d come home. Neither of his parents tried to get him to go back to Allah either. They knew he wouldn’t. This though, this he could read.

He sat back on Altair’s bed and opened the Q’ran. He wasn’t religious, but he liked the stories. This Q’ran was well worn and dog eared many times, the spine starting to crack and fray. Maybe he should buy Altair a new Q’ran.

The beginning was to be expected and he knew a lot of it, able to read it easily even in Arabic. But then he started to notice side notes in the margins of the book. They were tight Arabic scrawl in a neat hand. Altair hadn’t written these notes, someone else had. He had no idea who. But the side notes were… interesting. ‘Lies’ appeared several times, so did other verses, contradictions in the stories. There were also entire long footnotes that went on for pages about something. 

Malik had honestly never enjoyed reading the Q’ran this much. He didn’t notice the time until there was a knocking at the front door. He looked up, startled, and realized it was probably Altair. Quickly Malik got out of the bed and went to get the door. Altair was there in his white coat, the hood was pulled up. “You’re here,” Altair looked up at him, his butterscotch eyes molten.

“I said I would be,” Malik said and pulled him inside to gently rub his arms. “Have fun?”

Altair’s laugh was broken, “Yeah,” he said and slid into Malik’s arms, hugging him. He felt Altair wince when Malik hugged him back. More bruises, more beatings. “I wanna get out of this damn thing. I hate it,” and then he was untangling from Malik and went to his room, yanking off the jacket angrily and throwing it into the closest. Malik was in time to see him also rip off his collared shirt and pull on another, a red t-shirt. Malik could see a new bruise blossoming, peaking out from his shirt sleeve.

“What happened?” Malik asked, stepping over to him and gently touching Altair’s arm.

“Nothing. It’s fine,” Altair lied. He always lied. Malik frowned but didn’t say anything else. “I’m tired,” Altair said.

“Your bed is surprisingly comfortable,” Malik said.

“Stay?” Altair asked, holding onto the front of Malik’s shirt.

“What?”

“Stay the night. Please?” and Malik knew it could go sideways. If someone saw them…

“Okay,” Malik said, cupping Altair’s face gently. “I’ll stay.”

Altair sighed in relief, “Thank you,” and he kissed Malik lightly. “What did you do while I was gone?” Malik told him, save for the strange leather journal inside the book. “You found that thing?”

“Yeah. Who wrote in it?”

“My father,” Altair said as he unbuttoned his denim pants and flopped down on his bed. He looked small on it, even though the bed wasn’t that big. His shirt rode up a bit and Malik could see another bruise on his hip; a new one. Altair rolled onto his belly, to get as comfortable as he could, and held onto his pillow.

Malik finally took off his shoes and socks and he folded up his pants and folded them over the chair back. It was almost ten, Altair had been gone a while. Malik grabbed the dumb rabbit and slid into the thin bed with Altair, under the covers. Altair twisted to latch onto him, silent as the damp world outside. “I’m glad you’re here,” Altair huffed, snuggling against him, nearly on top of him.

“Whenever you need me,” Malik said and kissed him. “Now, you ganna tell me it’s name or what?” he only teased a little.

Altair snatched the rabbit from Malik’s hands and pressed it between their bodies. “Umar,” he said softly, “after my father.”

“Isn’t your father alive?”

Altair was silent for several moments, “Not anymore,” he said softly.

“Can I ask?”

“I don’t… like to talk about it,” Altair said.

“Okay,” Malik didn’t push. “It’s a good name though,” Altair nodded into Malik’s chest. He felt Altair fall asleep against him, Malik just held him close and watched him breathe until he turned off the lamp on the table and followed suit. He dreamed of rooms with his name written on the walls in blood.


	9. Pitch

It was a new week. Summer was creeping in, Altair spent more time at school though whenever needed he was there for Malik. Desmond was apparently still around, though his brother had shown up and taken the car. He’d seen Desmond a few times now. One time he had a fat lip, Altair had explained his brother had punched him for stealing his car. Altair continued to sport new bruises, and there were no more murders for his big case.

Malik was on a shooting crime scene.  Pretty basic. There’d been a robbery at a jewelry store and someone robbing the place had shot one of the clerks as they ran. Because it was a murder Malik had been called in. It was busy work, he didn’t mind. Altair was there with him though didn’t do much other than look, his eyes as good as a camera, clicking away and seeing everything of interest, making notes in his notebook.

Malik looked over Altair’s shoulder as he made notes. He was seriously curious as to Altair’s note process, since a lot of it was just squiggles and strange not-word markings that he’d seen that one time. Altair was drawing slow, geometric, patterns, on the page. “What’s that?” he asked and Altair nearly jumped out of his skin.

“What?” Altair asked-squeaked really- and whirled to look at him, holding his notebook close. Malik grinned at him and it was only because there was no one in the building with them, the door blocked off with tape and police, that he bumped his nose against Altair’s.

“What are your notes?” he clarified.

“Oh …just… you know,” Altair said awkwardly. “My notes.”

“You were drawing,” Malik noted.

“Ah, yeah, it’s uh… how I keep notes.”

“Why are you so weird about that?”

“Weird?”

“What? Think I’m going to call you on your note taking?” Malik asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time…”

“I was curious. I’ve never seen someone take notes like that.”

“Yeah I do. I don’t write well, it’s easier to just connect image to image instead of image to words. So like a line means something to me. It makes it so that you can’t actually… read my notes though.”

“Who’d read your notes?”

“… My tutors,” Altair said and Malik smelled a lie. “Anyway it’s just how I do it, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I think it’s fascinating,” really everything about Altair was fascinating, especially the way he was looking at Malik’s mouth, and swallowed, realizing how close Malik was.

“Ah— the case,” Altair stepped away from him and Malik grinned at him cheekily.

“Right. Well, finish up your notes we-

The door was suddenly thrown open, “Detective S!” it was Sibrand, his blonde hair was in disarray, falling across his forehead.

“Sibrand? What is it?” he asked, confused. Sibrand usually was so well kept, though was prone to mild panic attacks. But never to the point that his hair was mussed.

“You need to come, right now,” he gasped.

“What happened?”

“There was a murder.”

“I’m on a cas-

“It’s for the serial,” Sibrand blurted out. “You need to come, _now_.”

Malik’s brow furrowed. It had been almost six weeks since the last one. “What happened?”

“Just come,” Sibrand beckoned him urgently. “The news caught wind of this one. It’s going to be a news storm about this.”

“O-kay,” Malik said in a slow, confused voice. He looked at Altair. “Pack up, we’re going.” Altair nodded and Malik followed Sibrand out of the store, Altair came along a moment later and they got into the cruiser Malik had been given. Sibrand got into his own and turned on the siren and charged down the street. Malik followed, siren screaming.

They went near across town to the crime scene, a nice, big, house, with at least an acre of land surrounding it and gardens. This was the house of some big wig, some politician or mobster or well to do asshole. There were half a dozen police cars in the driveway and the gates to the house opened and closed for them, so that others couldn’t follow, Malik assumed so the media couldn’t show up.

The sirens cut off mid wail and the echoes hung in the still air too long, as if surprised by the sudden stillness. When Malik stepped out of the car, putting his hat into place, he smelled vomit.Not a small amount either. He frowned.

“Uhg,” Altair said.

“Plug your nose and prepare your stomach it seems,” Malik  said passionlessly and followed Sibrand.

“The area was kept clear as you told us. No one has been in or out of the building since it was reported for your case,” Sibrand rambled. “Really though I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

“How many dead?” Malik asked.

“Seven,” Sibrand said. “Entire household. The owners, and the people who worked here. Everyone who was here last night was killed here.” Malik frowned.

“Mob connection?”

“Non yet that we know of. Robert’s apparently trying to get ahold of Capone and the other Dons.” They went upstairs, second floor. “It starts here,” Sibrand pointed to a brush of blood on a wall. “And it ends… well, down the hall. Forgive me if I don’t go with you, I don’t have the stomach for it,” and indeed Sibrand looked rather green and ill.

“We got it,” Malik said and Altair followed behind him dutifully like a skinny shadow. 

The floor was wood and other than a few, brief, smudges on the wall no other trace that was clear. Then they came to the end of the hall. Malik took one look and then had to duck out again, feeling the lunch he and Altair had had recoil and surge up his throat.

“You okay?” Altair asked him, sounding unaffected. When Malik looked at him he just looked concerned.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered and wiped his mouth. Well, now he knew why outside smelled like vomit. At least _he_ hadn’t vomitted. “Just give me a second,” Altair nodded and went back to the room. Malik took his second and then steeled himself, standing up properly and looked back into the room.

The room had been a bedroom, a guest room by the look of it. The walls were white and the bed looked comfortable. There were seven bodies here. Two were in chairs, the familiar stab to the neck the killing blow. There were looks of horror on their dead faces, eyes wide open in terror. The other five bodies told why. They’d been… mutilated. That was really the only way to describe it. They’d been cut open all the insides now the outsides and spilled across the floor, their faces so cut up you couldn’t tell who was who or what they’d looked like before. What clothes had been left on them were shredded so they were practically naked.

“What… the hell happened,” Malik swallowed down bile. He’d never seen carnage like this. Even during the War. Not this sort of personal violence.

“Anger,” Altair said numbly, startling him.

“What?” Malik asked.

“Whoever did this; was very angry,” Altair said, staring at the carnage, wide eyed, lips pale.

“This isn’t like the others, at all,” Malik said.

“Except them,” Malik pointed to the two in chairs.

“Yeah. But that’s it. The others… god _damn_ that is a lot of blood,” he pressed his hand to his mouth, stepping gingerly around the bodies. “Fuck… I don’t even know where to start,” Malik admitted.

Altair said nothing, just put his kit on the desk in the room and pulled out his notebook. Malik couldn’t get over what he was looking at. Blood and gore and just so much useless, meaningless death. Clearly the two men in chairs had been the targets, the other five were… were what? Collateral damage? Extra? _Fun_? Whoever had butchered these people had a fucked up mind.

Malik turned around to face the door, “Altair,” he said hollowly.

“Yeah?”

“Look,” he pointed above the door.

“Oh…” Altair said, the word like a stone dropped into a bucket. Above the door, written in blood with their hands the killer had written a message.

Please, Malik.

“He knows I’m here,” Malik swallowed.

“He wanted you to see,” Altair agreed. 

“He’s _got_ to be following the case, somehow,” but he had no idea _how_ he could be. It had been kept mostly out of the papers thanks to the police and the mob. So that meant someone on the inside. “But… how?”

“What are you going to do?” Altair asked.

“What I’ve been doing; stop him,” Malik said firmly.

Altair slid up next to him, “I want you to catch him too,” he said softly.

“What was the point of all this?” Malik looked around at the destruction, arms out a bit. “Really? Why? He’s so professional, except for that one months ago. And now… this.”

“Maybe he wants your attention,” Altair said.

“Well, he’s had it,” Malik growled.

“Maybe he’s tired of waiting for you to find him?” Altair asked. “Like I said… this is angry. You don’t do stuff like this unless you’re furious.”

“It doesn’t make sense though. Everything about him up to this point as been so… sanitary, detached. Why get upset over this?”

“I don’t know,” Altair said softly.

Malik pulled on his face before reaching into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. The nicotine and tobacco steadied him a bit. “Okay,” he said after he’d taken a hit. Smoke fell out of his mouth as he spoke, “Lets get to work,” Altair smiled slightly, his strange yellow eyes gleaming.

—

There were no leads. No motive. No witnesses. They visited Shaun when the bodies were ready. He said that while the kills had looked messy they were completed with a professional precision like the other kills, only messier. That was great.

Except Malik still had no leads.

It was frustrating and infuriating.

The media had also caught wind of the latest murder and it was national within days. Malik kept his head down and kept Altair at school. Robert and Sibrand handled the media. He couldn’t get caught up in this. He wasn’t a Chicago native, he was a War vet, and he was brown. None of those things were kind to him and if the media knew a _brown_ man was leading this case they’d thrown a shit storm. Sibrand was playing the head investigator. Malik was fine with that.

He called Altair over a few times that week but Altair refrained from joining him. He had finals next week and needed to prepare. So Malik was alone. Altair showed up now and then for some cases and on Thursday had shown up at the hotel looking exhausted and fallen asleep in Malik’s bed. The next morning they’d done the things Altair clearly had come over to do. At _least_ Altair was touching himself even when he wasn’t with Malik. That had been an awkward first week before Malik had told him he could touch himself at home and figure it all out since the kid exhausted him. Friday turned out exhausting because of that, on top of smaller cases. Saturday Altair went back to school and Malik didn’t hear from him for a week.

There were no more murders and surprisingly little crime. The sheer magnitude of the horror of the massacre in the estate had left Chicago shocked and scared. People didn’t wander outside and the streets were rather empty at night. It made Malik uneasy.

Altair showed up at his hotel on a Wednesday. It had been almost three weeks since the murders. He was wearing a hat. Malik had _never_ seen Altair wear a hat before. Till now at least. “Hey,” Altair smiled brightly at him.

“Well look at you. You actually look sort of grown up,” Malik teased, Altair laughed a little. Altair stepped inside and closed the door. “Going to crash on my bed again?” he asked.

Altair pouted at him. “No,” he said. “I actually… have some news,” he swallowed.

“What sort of news? Good news?”

“No.”

Malik frowned and folded his arms over his chest, “What sort of news?”

“I… I’m leaving.”

Malik blinked, “What?” he asked.

“I’m only studying abroad for a year and… well my year’s up. I’m going back to Switzerland. My visa is going to expire in a week or so, enough time for me to get to New York and my boat,” Altair was frowning and Malik felt like he’d just been hit in the chest by a wrecking ball. It was sort of hard to breathe.

“Oh…” it sounded weak.

“I’m sorry,” Altair said pitifully. “I don’t want to go. I want to help you with your case but…

“Your visa,” Malik said mechanically. Altair nodded.

“Yeah. Also I already have a ticket for my train and the boat. I’m going back to Switzerland and then back to Syria for the summer, to be with my family,” he swallowed again. “I…”

Malik kissed him, pressing him back against the door. “Just… stop talking,” he said against Altair’s lips. “Just stop,” because he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to think about it, that this was the end of this affair, that he’d have to say goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” Altair said again, his words a whisper as he held Malik’s face between two hands. Malik hung his head with a sigh and then looked up at him.

“Don’t be sorry,” Malik said softly. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Then he had to ask the question he really didn’t want the answer for. “When are you leaving?” Altair didn’t answer. “Altair,” he said pointedly.

“Tomorrow morning. I thought… I thought it’d be better if I didn’t draw it out, knowing I’d have to say I was leaving,” Malik whined, pained, at Altair’s words. “I came to say goodbye.”

Malik sighed and pressed his forehead to Altair’s. Altair had his arms around Malik’s neck now, his displeasure as clear and obvious as Malik’s. “I’ll miss you,” Malik said softly.

“I’ll miss you too,” Altair echoed. Malik kissed him gently. “I don’t want to go, if it makes you feel better. I don’t want to go home, or back to school. I want to stay here; with you,” and that confession _ruined_ Malik. As it was he doubted he’d ever be able to sleep with someone else ever again and now _this_?

Malik sighed a long, tired, sigh. He felt old, and worn and so very, very, tired. “I know,” he said softly, touching Altair’s face like it was made of glass. “I know,” he repeated. Altair was going to get on a train in the morning, go to New York, and he’d never see Altair again. He didn’t think it would hurt that much but it felt like a vice was crushing his heart. He sighed again, “Okay…” he tried to get a grip. He couldn’t let this destroy him, he _couldn’t_. He had a job he still needed to do, people who still needed him. He couldn’t throw it all away for some guy. “Stay the night with me,” Malik said.

“Malik I don’t-

“Please,” Malik said. If Altair was leaving in the morning than damnit he wasn’t letting Altair just _go_. “I’ll take you to the train station in the morning,” he promised, stroking Altair’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Malik nodded. “I won’t let you go alone,” he promised.

Altair tightened his arms around Malik’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I’ll stay the night,” he promised. Malik pressed his face into Altair’s neck, holding him tightly. He didn’t want to let Altair go ever, and the knowledge that he’d have to in the morning broke him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Malik was sure he’d never fall in love. He specifically tried not to do so. But… he was. _Fuck_ he was _in love_. Never had such a string of words been though with such anguish. He couldn’t even tell Altair, because he was leaving tomorrow morning. He couldn’t do that to Altair, drop that bomb on him the night before he left. So instead he just squeezed Altair tighter wishing Altair never had to leave his arms.

—

The sound of the alarm clock going off was like death drums. Malik was already awake, watching Altair sleep. He turned the alarm off without fuss and Altair was too exhausted to wake up from just that. Malik hadn’t slept a lot last night, instead staying up and watching Altair sleep, knowing that that night was the last time he’d ever see Altair. Altair on the other hand was exhausted and slept like the dead, now too sleepy to even get up.

Malik wondered what would happen if he just didn’t wake Altair up. If he just let Altair sleep and miss his train. He’d catch the next one probably. He frowned to himself a moment before running his hand up Altair’s arm. The kid looked peaceful in his sleep and his bruises were all old, faded. 

He leaned down and kissed Altair gently, but he knew not enough to wake him up. He just grumbled a little and snuggled into the pillows and blankets and Malik, who was all to glad to wrap his arm around his chest and pull their naked bodies flush together. Malik put his head in Altair’s short hair, breathing in the smell of him, determined to remember it, to never let it fade. He knew Altair wouldn’t forget, that fucking mind like an iron trap. He’d remember every line, plane and wrinkle on Malik’s face, though perhaps not the sound of his voice, not the way he smelled. But at least he’d have his face and the memory of Malik’s hands on his skin and the feeling of his mouth. Malik squeezed him tightly, inhaling as he did.

That roused Altair though and he came awake slowly. “Hmm?” Altair asked, confused and sleepy. He looked at Malik through half lidded eyes and Malik ran his hand across his cheek. “ _Morning_ ,” he said in Arabic.

“Morning,” Malik replied. “Did you have a good dream?”

Altair smiled one of those sleepy, dreamy, smiles. “Yes.”

“About what?”

“You,” and Malik sighed, pressing his face back into Altair’s neck, unable to look at him. Altair hugged him back, curling into him.

A long time passed before Malik said, “We need to get up.” Altair nodded into his neck, “Shower first?”

“Do we get room service for breakfast?” Altair asked.

“Yeah,” Malik said, stroking his back.

Altair yawned and rolled onto his back. “Are you going to shower with me?” he asked with a sly look in his eyes.

“Like I’ll let you out of my fucking sight until you get on that damn train,” Malik growled. Altair beamed at him and Malik kissed him, sweetly first, and then deeper, making Altair groan under him. Then he pulled back, “I’ll call for breakfast, you get the water started. Altair nodded slowly and Malik got up and picked up the heavy black phone. Altair rolled out of bed and Malik felt freakishly satisfied to note that Altair walked with the slightest limp. He turned away when the phone cut in and he ordered a large breakfast, mainly for Altair. Malik wasn’t really a breakfast guy. 

Once the order was placed Malik went to the bathroom where he could hear the sound of water running. The curtain was already closed and Malik made sure to close the door loud enough for Altair. “Took you long enough,” Altair huffed.

“Hey, I’m getting you breakfast, don’t complain,” Malik said and stepped into the shower with him. Altair had his hands in his hair, full of suds and turned around when Malik got in with him. Malik tugged his hands from his hair and put his own there. Altair’s eyes lidded in pleasure at the attention.

Altair scrubbed at his hair too and, because he was a fucking kid, also used the suds to style Malik’s hair into dos he’d never be caught dead in, including a mohawk. Malik just rolled his eyes with a smile but didn’t tell him off. If Altair wanted to have fun he could do so all he wanted and Malik would be fine with that. Eventually though Malik washed his hair out, shaking it once he’d cleaned the suds out and Altair laughed at him when he got water everywhere. It would have been a problem if they weren’t in the shower. Malik’s bangs hung thick in front of his eyes like vines and Altair brushed them aside to kiss him.

Malik grabbed the bar of soap and lathered his hands before getting his hands reacquainted with all the planes of Altair’s body for the last time. This was it, the last time he’d be able to touch Altair. The last time he’d get to kiss him and feel his hair in his fingers and the feel of Altair’s breath against his skin. Altair liked the attention of Malik’s hands and returned in kind, cleaning Malik’s body diligently, but clearly enjoying touching Malik as well.

It ended with Altair being pressed against the wall of the shower Malik’s lips attached to his firmly, a slight whine leaving his mouth. Malik caught one of his hands and pressed a leg between his legs, pressing upwards firmly. Altair whined again, enjoying it and both kissed back and rolled his hips against Malik’s leg. Fuck. Barely two months ago Altair was as virgins as virgins get, and now he knew what to do and it was painfully attractive to Malik. He loved knowing he’d been the one to help Altair figure it all out, _what_ he liked, _how_ he liked it, even if he did sometimes run Malik absolutely ragged. Well worth it in his opinion.

Altair gasped and pulled away from Malik when Malik took his cock in hand and his own as well and pressed against him. Malik groaned because it felt way too good and his hand moved quickly over them. Up and down and over the head and squeezing at Altair’s base to pull a damning noise from the younger man that totally left Malik unable to think properly. His entire head was just filled with Altair, his breathy moans, the feeling of his hands on his shoulders, the puff of breath on his face, the way his eyes stuck to Malik’s skin and face like they were physically touching him, burning him, the press of their bodies together, the way Altair’s hips pushed into Malik’s fist sweetly. It was all he could think and all he could process. Just Altair. No one else. He didn’t _want_ anyone else, not if he couldn’t have Altair. Only him. Only him.

Altair’s name rolled off Malik’s tongue like a blessing when he came, gasping it, pressing Altair so hard against the wall the kid whined from the pressure. Malik claimed Altair’s mouth as he finished him off, making him wriggle and squirm until he’d spilled all over Malik’s hand for the water to wash it all away. Malik kept Altair propped up against the wall with his thigh as both they came down. Altair smiled at him and kissed him, stroking his head adoringly. Once they could both properly function he released Altair and he stood on his own. They rinsed off and turned off the water.

Malik got out of the shower first and grabbed a towel, first drying himself, and then grabbed another and as Altair stepped out of the shower he wrapped Altair in it, drying him. Then he secured it around Altair’s waist and grabbed another to dry Altair’s messy hair, tugging it into a hood around his face and kissing him in it’s shade.

They were kissing when there was a knock on the front door. Malik told him to finish drying and went and got their breakfast. He tipped the room service and went to put on his clothes. Altair didn’t bother and just yanked on underwear before going and helping himself to the food.

Breakfast was quiet. They didn’t talk about the fact that after this they were going to the train station. Malik tuned the radio and they listened to it while Altair ate most of the food. Then Altair dressed in his clothes from last night and silently they left the hotel room down to Malik’s cruiser. Altair was having his luggage delivered, so it was just him. Malik hesitated before following Altair into the station. He walked Altair to his platform where the train was finishing boarding and they hugged. “I’m sorry,” Altair said again.

“Don’t be,” Malik told him, standing an appropriate distance apart.

“I wish I could-

“I know. It’s okay,” Malik swallowed. “Now, get on that stupid train.”

With a frown Altair went. Thankfully he didn’t sit at a window or wave out the window. He knew it was as painful for Altair as it was for him. Malik waited at the platform and the train pulled away. He watched it until he couldn’t see it anymore. Then, with a heavy heart, he left the train station.

There was an officer in the lobby when he returned to the hotel. “What is it?” he asked, not in the mood.

“There’s been another one, sir,” they said.

“One of mine?”

“Yes, sir,” they nodded.

He sighed, “Okay, lets go.”

“Uh… there’s something else, sir.”

“What?”

“It’s in St. Louis.”


	10. From Where the Mississippi Flows

St. Louis was another northern city, like Chicago. Maybe not as windy, but to Malik they all looked the same. Cold built houses, ones made of brick with chimneys and small windows to keep the child winters out. The brown stone old and worn out and rebuilt and squeezed tightly together to take up as little space as possible. The high rises were high and looming and could make anyone feel small. Like Chicago it was also an alcohol hub, contraband from the north around the Great Lakes running through St. Louis before hitting the Mississippi and the major railroads that could take it south and east and west.

Not Malik’s department.

The St. Louis PD set him up in another hotel, this one not nearly as nice as the one he was staying in while in Chicago. The commissioner, a man named Borgia, yeah, like the original Italian mafia of the Roman Vatican, had taken one look at him, sniffed disdainfully and put him in the hands of some officer who couldn't keep his eyes in his head. At least Robert bad respected him, because Richard had spoken well of him. There was nothing like that here. He hadn't expected anything different really.

The hotel was middle range, no need to spend money on some brown man from out of town here to work a national case. One that would have put your department head and shoulders above the rest if they caught this guy. Instead there was Malik. Brown, and from the West Coast. He was no one's friend, least of all anyone at this prescient. But his hotel had clean sheets and clean carpets and the bed was soft. The room smelled faintly of cigarettes and old sex. Malik made a note to not sit on any of the furniture.

Malik washed his hands, put away his things and locked the case files he'd brought from Chicago in a safe and made a phone call.

"Operator," said a pleasant, female, voice.

"I need to call California," Malik said, "LAPD, connected to the commissioner Richard England. I don't want anyone else but the commissioner. You tell him Detective S is calling."

"Alright, sir. Where should the bill be sent?"

"LAPD is footing the bill this time."

"Okay, sir. I can call you back at this number, correct?"

"Yes."

"You'll get a call back in less than ten minutes."

"Thank you," and Malik hung up. He sat on the bed and looked around the room. It was smaller than the old one and just had a bed, a desk with a chair and radio, and a small armchair. All he needed. He got up and while waiting for his return call put his things in order. He was pulling out his cigarette box after putting his things away when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello Detective S we’re going to put you through to your long distance connection,” said the operator.

“Thanks,” Malik said. There was silence as he was put in contact with the commissioner.

“Hello?” Richard asked.

“Mr. England, good to hear your voice, sir, it’s Malik,” Malik said as he gently tapped a cigarette from his box.

“Damn well it is. What is it S I’m busy?”

“I need Ezio,” Malik said.

“Come again?”

“I need Ezio to come to St. Louis. I can’t do this without a kriminalist and I don’t want to deal with another moron,” because Altair had been a moron? No. Damnit Malik don’t say shit you don’t mean. He just didn’t know if he could take meeting someone new who did the job worse than Altair. He knew Ezio though. Ezio did a flawless job, like Altair had. Kid had had real practice in Europe before moving to LA apparently.

“Can’t, he’s busy.”

“Don’t give me lies, sir. You know as well as I that since I’ve been gone Ezio’s been hanging around twiddling his thumbs cause no one uses him but me. Makes the others feel inferior to have to rely on some science geek with glasses and too much money. Have him buy his own ticket if it makes you feel better, not like the kid can’t afford it, but I need him.”

Richard sighed, “Sometimes I hate you’re the detective I have that’s right all the time,” he informed Malik.

“Apologies for my birth,” Malik said with dry humor.

Richard chuckled, “Don’t be. It makes the lesson stick better when I deal with two-bit dirty cops who think they’re tough shit. No one wants to be told to act more like you.”

“Then glad to be of service. You’ll send Ezio?”

“Yeah I’ll get him on a train tomorrow,” Richard said with a slight sigh. “Be level with me S, when are you coming back?”

“… I don’t know,” Malik admitted. He knew what Richard was asking. How close was he to catching the killer? Malik didn’t know. He had no leads. He had no suspects. He didn’t even have a motive. Whoever held the knife did so without agenda other than that all the victims had been mobsters. He was enacting a sort of twisted justice when cops could do nothing. Malik didn’t fully approve but he enjoyed seeing bad guys have to pay for their sins. So few didn’t.

“Okay,” Richard said, long and worn. “I’ll send Ezio along, he’ll be glad to have some real work. Get this guy S,” it was an order.

“I will,” Malik said. Then they said their farewells and Malik hung up. Once the phone was back on its holder he put the cigarette into his mouth and flipped his lighter a few times to get it lit. The cigarette tip burned orange and a pale smoke filled the room. The smell of cigarettes would be the only old smell Malik would be refreshing.

—

It took three days for Ezio to arrive. Malik had visited the courniner, a mortician from the bad side of town, and confirmed it was like the other bodies. He was still trying to get the PD to hand over the few files they had on the case and he was going crazy because they were difficult and assholes about it and were also trying to get him to hand over his copy of the files he’d brought from Chicago.

He met Ezio at the train station, smoking a cigarette in irritation as people disembarked. Ezio was in a first class car, he only traveled in style after all. He only had to wait a short time before the kid was getting off the train. Now he said kid but really Ezio wasn’t. Suddenly compared to Altair his kriminalist seemed old and sagely next to him, who was barely more than a kid for real. Where before Malik always teased Ezio about being twenty-five now he seemed more mature.

At least until he opened his mouth.

“Malik!” he cried upon seeing Malik and not only wrapped him in a tight embrace but lifted him a few inches off the ground. Ezio was a good three inches taller than Malik and built like a boxer.

“Put me down!” Malik yelped, shoving at Ezio pointedly and trying to save his cigarette. The younger man laughed and set him down. Malik glared at him and tugged at his suit to lay on him properly while Ezio just smirked. He checked his cigarette and then took a quick pull and blew the smoke out equally as quick. "Go chase yourself, Ethel," Malik growled at Ezio, not that he could be blamed, Ezio was almost too pretty to be a man. The long hair and cheaters didn't help his case either.

"Aww, don't be like that now Malik," Ezio grinned at him. "You know you're happy to see me. You told Richard to send me."

"I'm regretting that," Malik muttered.

"C'mon lemmie get a ciggy," Ezio needled him and Malik just forked over his cigarette case instead of fighting it. He might work well with Ezio but Ezio was still a bit obnoxious when he wanted to be. Malik knew when to not fight it. Ezio took a cigarette and lit up. "I got some bags," he said.

"I'm sure. The St. Louis PD is paying for a room for you."

"Nice... it is nice right?"

"Nothing to write home about, but it isn't terrible," Malik said.

"Sheets clean?"

"They are."

"That's all I care about."

Malik looked at Ezio for about a good minute in silence, holding his cigarette near but not in his mouth, before saying, "You're so full of shit," and Ezio laughed again. "Where's your stuff?"

"Should be getting off now," Ezio said, "we got a car?"

"Yeah but the cheap PD wouldn't have someone else help me carry all your stuff-

"I didn't bring that much."

"Yeah right."

"Only a few bags, and one of them has gear in it."

"The have gear here Ezio."

"Like I would actually trust anything here. These people don't even know what a kriminalist is let alone have the proper equipment I need. It's a sensitive thing Malik, you know that."

"If we need a third person you're tipping them," Malik frowned at him.

"It isn't that much," Ezio complained.

"It better not be," Malik grumbled.

They waited and because Ezio was first class they actually took it right to Malik's waiting cruiser. Ezio had at least been truthful, it hadn't been too many bags, only three, including his equipment. Ezio got in the passenger seat. "Give me the straight business," Ezio said as they drove.

"Shit," Malik said as explanation. "I have shit."

"Really?"

"No motive, no suspect, no leads. I'm chasing a ghost. All I have is a boot print."

"You find anything about?"

Malik frowned, "Hard to say, it's a sprinting print. But male, probably five-nine, and athletic. According to my guy from Chicago might have some rage issues- what?" Ezio had a strange look about him.

"Rage issues? What makes you think that?"

"Just what my stand in kriminalist said," Malik shrugged. "Projecting maybe. I'm just repeating what he said."

"Anything interesting in the case?" Ezio asked as they came to a stop light. Malik looked out the window and didn't answer for a moment.

"He left me a message," he said turning to Ezio.

"What message?" Ezio's brows were up and his cigarette was hanging off his lower lip.

The light changed green, "The first one was a normal killing, 'stop me'. Second one came during the speak easy killing. 'Please,'" Ezio's face shifted but Malik couldn't tell what his expression was. "And the third..."

"The third?" Ezio prompted at Malik's silence.

"He knew I was there, and knew I would find him. It was a personal message, from the case that made this national."

"What was it?"

"Please, Malik," and Ezio was pale.

"So he was following the case?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know," Malik frowned. "Another mystery to this fucking mystery. And after that, silence, no kills for weeks even though he kept speeding up. And now... he shows up in St. Louis."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm not," another red light. “I’m missing something and I don’t know what, I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle, but I don’t know what.”

“Any idea as to what it could be?” Ezio asked.

“No,” Malik sighed. “I just want a motive, then maybe I'd be happy."

"Really?" Ezio asked slowly.

Malik took a moment so he answered truthfully, "No," he said deliberately, "not really."

\--

Ezio had visited the morgue, to collect what he could and looked over the case files. He identified the killer as the same one from Chicago, even if Malik hadn't seen the body himself to confirm. But there wasn't much they could do about finding the killer until he made a move. Borgia let Malik flap in the wind though. No need to keep Malik busy, he had proper, white, detectives to take cases.

So that left Malik to do three things, sightsee, obsess over his case, and miss Altair. He did miss Altair too. His enthusiasm and his lean, but strong, body and the dexterity of his hands. His vibrant golden eyes that were sometimes dark  and light at the same time like a big cat hunting.  He wouldn't say he didn't miss the feeling the let's body pressed up against him either since Malik wasn't a liar. He did his best to think about other things though and to spend time with Ezio who was one of his few friends, as sad as that was. His best friend was a fascist, how sad was that? Of course Malik only thought that with private humor and wouldn’t dream of saying that to Ezio’s face. The Italian might actually punch him in the face for it.

Most of the time Malik entertained himself by walking, just to get out. He visited the crime scene... far too many times to be healthy, and kept going over his case file trying to find something he’d missed. He was diligent and thorough in looking too.

It took him till then to realize that there were two different handwritings that had written the case files from the murders in Chicago. Normally case files were filled out by the detective running the case, so Malik had written most of the case files, the earlier ones had been written by some other men so he knew that. But, there was a problem, even on his. After staring at them for so long he realized someone had tampered with them. Malik and whoever had written the other files wrote well. Malik wrote in a curt, capital, military scrawl, his letters formed quickly but each one separated. The other man wrote in a quick, neat, mostly cursive style. Malik had memorized the way the other man wrote the case files to the point he could see them in his sleep sometimes.

Some of the tails were wrong.

He knocked on the door of Ezio’s hotel room. It was after lunch and he knew the other man was in, maybe napping. Ezio answered the door a moment later looking like he had been taking a nap, his shirt bedraggled, glasses hanging off his nose, his long hair down and unkept, messy. “Yeah?” Ezio asked in a half yawn.

“I need you to look at something,” Malik said, holding the stack of case files, “cause I think I’m going insane.”

“Hmm, yeah, sure,” Ezio said sleepily and let Malik in. Malik sat on Ezio’s rumpled bed. Ezio fell down onto it next to him. “I was reading the files again.”

“Mhmmm,” Ezio said, laying out on the bed, his legs hanging off the edge, head cushioned by his arms.

“And I noticed something... fishy.”

“How so?” Ezio grunted, propping himself up a bit.

“I think someone tampered with my files,” Malik said. When Ezio’s brows creased Malik flipped open the first case file. “Please tell me I’m not going crazy,” he pointed to the word ‘yellow’ on the page.

“Yeah, okay?” Ezio asked, more awake and focused.

“See how they write their Y?”

“I guess,” Ezio said, it was a flourish at the end of the tail, curling back up and into the letter to rest under the fork.

“And this one here,” he pointed out another Y and a few Gs, the tail always ended just under the head of the letter.

“Where are you going with this Malik?” Ezio asked, giving him a strange look.

“This,” Malik lifted a page to where it was, “when I first read this file I was sure there was nothing in this space. Now there is, and look at the G here,” the tail flourish was fatter and ended before the head of the letter.

“Yeah, so?”

“It wasn’t written by the same person,” Malik said.

“It looks the same to me,” Ezio said, scratching his head.

Malik frowned at him, “And then there’s this,” Malik opened one of the files he’d written. Malik wrote in all capitals. “Tell me when I ever would write like that,” he pointed to a short line that had been written at the end of the file. It was in capitals, but the letters were... malformed in so many small ways it was hard to say exactly just what was wrong with them.

Ezio sat up and took the file from Malik. “Okay, yeah, I see it now,” Ezio said seriously. “Someone was trying very hard to mimic how you write.”  
“The same with the others,” Malik said. “Someone tampered with my files.”

“I didn’t,” Ezio said, “you know how I write.”

“Yeah,” Malik agreed.

“It kinda looks like someone who isn’t used to writing was tracing your letters, there’s no confidence in the stroke. They’re all kinda shaky, like they practiced a long time to get them right but weren’t entirely confident with them,” Ezio cast a glance at Malik, “Any ideas as to who did this?”

“No. And... the funny part is is that the parts that are forged only add to the file. There are no eraser marks. Only additions and completing unknown information.”

“Huh,” Ezio put down the file and said in a very serious tone, “Didn’t you tell me that you thought the killer was following the case from the inside?”

“Yeah,” Malik said, nodding.

“I think your killer wrote these notes,” Ezio said, closing the file.

“He couldn’t have,” Malik said though didn’t sound so sure. “I had them locked in a safe in my hotel room unless I was looking at them. I was the only one who had easy access to them.”

“But someone else had access to them?”

“Yeah, my kriminalist-

There was a long silence between them as what Malik had just said sunk in. “Your kriminalist?” Ezio asked.

“He saw them as often as me,” Malik said softly, “I left him alone with them,” Malik could hear himself talking but he wasn’t really understanding the words coming out of his mouth since everything just seemed so much heavier.

“Your kriminalist must have altered them without your knowledge.”

“Everything added is more information,” Malik said, “and he was adding it because he knew. He knew because... shit,” shit really didn’t begin to cover it actually.

“So your kriminalist is your killer?” Ezio asked, curious to make sure he was right.

All at once it all fit together. All the subtle clues Altair had dropped over the weeks forming the big picture. Altair always seeming to know exactly where to look for the evidence he needed. How Altair always seemed to have more insight on what he was seeing, though he was seeing the same thing as Malik. Then in Malik’s mind’s eye he suddenly knew why all those times he’d seen Altair’s shoes he’d felt a pang of familiarity he couldn’t name and could now see it clearly; the bloody shoe print was Altair’s tread. He hadn’t been guessing during the big speakeasy killing, there had been help... Desmond and his girl, no doubt about it. Desmond had known something though he was still missing that piece of the puzzle. And he hadn’t been projecting at the mansion massacre. Something had pissed Altair off and he’d...

Good god he and Altair had slept together.

“Malik?” Ezio asked.

“My kriminalist is my killer,” Malik said in a hollow tone.

“Well then there you go! You got the killer.”

“No,” Malik said, because one thing didn’t make any sense at all.

“What?” Ezio asked.

“This murder,” he picked up the St. Louis killing. “He couldn’t have done it, he was in Chicago at the time.” So then how had they died? The same way... Altair killed people. Thinking it made Malik more than slightly ill.

“You’re sure about that?”

“I saw him that night,” Malik said, “we-” fucked, “had dinner together, since he was leaving the country. It was a goodbye thing. There’s no way he could have gotten to St. Louis in time for the morning papers to get this as their headline. Trains aren’t that fast.” Especially since they came in just as Malik was coming back from the station where Altair had gotten on the train for New York.

“So then what are you saying?” Ezio asked, “did your stand in kriminalis do it, or not?”

“Oh no, he did,” in retrospect the evidence was staggering. “But this murder... I think it might be a copycat,” he frowned deeply.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about your kriminalist. We should tell the Chicago PD to arrest him.”

“Can’t,” Malik said.

“Why?”

“He’s in the wind. He was leaving for New York the morning the murder came in. He was headed for Europe.”

“Why?”

“Visa was up.”

“What was he doing here?”

“... He was here for school,” Malik said slowly, feeling more than a bit numb.

“Malik, you okay?” Ezio asked.

“I’m just... surprised,” he said, “I thought he was a friend. He was playing me the entire time. Probably thought I was hilarious because I couldn’t see it was him,” and it explained all the times Altair looked like he’d wanted to say something, but didn't, like he had to physically restrain himself.

“You need a minute?”

“I think so,” Malik said and then Ezio was pulling him off the bed.

“Why don’t you go take a nap?” Ezio suggested, steering Malik out of his room and back into his own. “Or just chill out for a while, smoke, or something. You look like you just got hit by a wrecking ball.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I am. I’ll keep the case files.”

“Don’t write in them,” Malik heard himself say.

“Promise,” Ezio said, “if you promise to go take a load off.”

Malik nodded after a moment of hesitation and he realized he was sitting on his bed in his hotel room. “Good, I’ll check in in a bit, make sure you’re still alive.”

“I got bombed to hell and back, going to take more than that and this to kill me,” Malik said.

“That’s why I like you,” Ezio flashed a grin at Malik and then left him alone in his room.

The room was very quiet and empty without Ezio in it. Malik just sat on the edge of the bed for a while before he got up, turned on the radio and found some light jazz. He grabbed his cigarette case, kicked off his shoes and laid himself out on the bed, lighting up with three flicks of the lighter he reminded himself to get more fluid for.

He smoked through the rest of his case that day, staring up the ceiling, Ezio checked on him, but Malik was on a nicotine high. Ezio didn’t bother him other than to make sure he was still alive in the smoke filled room, and to open the window. He just kept thinking about it. He’d been looking his killer in the face for months. He’d seen them naked and vulnerable and damaged and pitiful and begging. He’d seen them energetic and with a smile and listened to jazz with them and drank with them and had been in their room. He’d been in the room of the murder weapon, he knew that now. He’d comforted a murderer of their bruises and wanted to lock up whoever had done that and wasted so much time, effort, and emotion on a killer.

Malik wasn’t sure what was worse, how blind he was, or how big of a fool he was.

When he ran out of cigarettes he went and got more, though finding a store that served colored people in this part of town was a nightmare, before going back to what he’d been doing. Smoking and feeling sorry for himself.

The actual worst part though wasn’t that Altair was the killer, or that Malik hadn’t seen it or that he’d let Altair slip right through his fingers. Those were all things Malik could live with honestly. He could live with that because he knew he’d done some things he wasn’t so proud of most days. He’d done it for his country, for Freedom, and for the guy next to him in the trench, which was different than blindly enacting vigilante justice. He could very nearly be okay with all that. But the worst was Malik’s part in the whole thing.

The worst was that he still loved Altair.

Even though he knew everything Altair had done, had killed all those people, had more than likely used him, and had led him along through the crime scenes, knowing every detail because he’d been the one to wield the knife. He knew all that and knew all the other horrible things Altair probably had done. Because you didn’t just one day wake up and know how to kill people with that sort of precision, to hit the same mark every time, and be untraceable afterwards. You worked at it, you trained yourself, you practiced. These people hadn’t been the first people Altair had killed. Who knew how many it really was.

Malik knew all this.

And damn his heart for not seeming to give a damn!

Malik’s mind walked itself through the past few weeks again and again, all day, to the point of nausea. Altair clearly spouting off some useful piece of information he should have no right to know about the inner workings of a murder, that Malik had just sort of looked over. Altair’s secretive nature and how he seemed to have two sides, only one of which he showed to Malik. The strange notebooks with the mutilated figures. Both of them had had his name in them though. Malik wondered if he was going to get it. The cigarette he’d been smoking at that time had turned to ash in his mouth thinking that one, even though it seemed unlikely. Altair was far away. He had help though. But he also remembered Altair’s smiles, how easy and carefree he seemed, totally unburdened by the world. He also remembered how fragile Altair was after he’d gone to that meeting and come back hurt and each time he’d shown up with new bruises or the cut on his mouth that had made Malik steam with rage. He kept bringing up all those moments. Again. And again. And again.

Eventually he just exhausted himself and felt asleep hard.

\--

Malik had his killer to the Chicago murders. The only problem was that said killer was hundreds of miles away now, probably on his boat and headed for Europe. Malik had allowed himself the first day and night to wallow in self pity before he got his act together. There was nothing he could do about Altair. Altair was gone and wasn’t coming back and there wasn’t much he could do to catch him. So he needed to focus on this copycat killer.

At least he thought it was a copycat. What if it was another helper like Desmond and Lucy had been? What had their last names been? He couldn’t remember. Meaning it didn’t help him. If it had been then this was bigger than he thought.

It wasn’t so though. He’d been able to check the body again just before it was going to be buried. The wound was... sloppy was the best way to put it. Altair killed with a single, clean, slice to the neck and throat with a rather narrow blade. This murder had been done with a wider and flatter blade and the mortician had said they’d been killed from a spinal injury, severing the neck bones. Meaning the knife was longer and more heavy duty to deal with breaking the spinal column. It also didn’t puncture the wind pipe. Altair would never be so sloppy, and even Desmond and Lucy had been perfectly professional in their execution. This wasn’t perfect, meaning it wasn’t them.

Ezio agreed with his copycat theory. They were keeping it to themselves though, since the real killer was gone. They needed to find this copycat so they could pin the entire lot of murders on him since they’d never see Altair again.

That still left finding the copycat though. Malik hadn’t been able to find Altair until it was literally an inch in front of his face. But Altair was a professional, this guy  was not. Malik still didn’t have a good lead though.

Then he got a call from the front desk, “Hello?” Malik asked.

“Hello, Mr. S, this is reception. A letter was left for you, would you like us to bring it up?”

“No I’ll come get it,” he wanted to go for a walk anyway. The receptionist gave an affirmative and hung up. Malik got dressed to go outside, putting on a light jacket over his sleeves and vest, grabbed his hat and went down to the front desk.

“Here you are sir,” he said when Malik asked about the letter and handed Malik a blank envelope with his name written on it.

“Who’s it from?” Malik asked them.

“Sorry sir, I don’t know, it was left in our mail slot this morning.”

“Huh... thanks,” and he took the envelope outside. He opened it carefully, but the inside was just an innocuous piece of paper, folded up to fit in the envelope. He unfolded it and, written with a typewriter, was an address and cross street here in St. Louis. Malik had no idea where it was though. He hailed a cab on his third try and told them the address, the cabbie gave him a funny look but didn’t ask why Malik wanted to go there, and just drove.

The drive was half an hour and took them to a part of town Malik had never been to, near the river and away from a lot of the main buildings. The cab pulled up to what looked like an abandoned building, “This is it,” he grunted. Malik paid him and got out, too curious to be scared. He closed the door and the cab drove away, leaving Malik all alone.

Cautiously he walked up to the building, the main door was on old metal wheels and slid sideways to open. He pushed the door open enough to get inside. It was an old store house, the windows grimy, though light could still penetrate the big room. There were some old boxes and crates stacked up in the room. Then his eyes were drawn to the point of interest. A man was seated against one of the boxes, bound, gagged, and messed up, blood oozing from his head. Malik could see he was still breathing though. Sitting on top of the box was another man, one foot on the hurt man’s shoulder, seeming to be casually cleaning his nails with a wicked looking knife. They wore a brown leather jacket, a white scarf, and construction worker’s denim pants. Malik felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The knife was scraped under one last nail before they looked up at him, “Hey Malik,” Altair said, his golden eyes bright, “Cash or check?”


	11. Fix for the Janitor

Malik was honestly surprised by what came out of his mouth, one that it was an answer, and two that it was one he wasn't expecting; "Cash."

Altair slid off the box, seemed to make the knife vanish into thin air, tucking it away somewhere hidden, and stepped lightly around the hurt man, walking right up to Malik. There was a confidence to his stride that had never been there and Malik realized he was in the element here. It made Malik slightly uneasy, since this was a part of Altair he'd never seen. Altair came up to Malik and kissed him, one hand sliding along his stomach and wrapping around his waist, under his jacket. Malik couldn't even stop himself if he tried and kissed Altair back though other than that didn't touch him. Altair had no problems doing that though and pushed his other hand up into Malik's mess of hair, toppling his hat right off his head to fall to the ground behind him.

Malik drowned in the feeling of kissing Altair which was like kissing fire and ice.

The taste of Altair lingered on Malik's lips when they parted, and Malik watched Altair chase of taste of Malik on his lips with his tongue. Malik just let out a low sigh of a breath. He hadn't been expecting to have this happen to him here of all places.

Altair's eyes sharpened slightly, "So," Altair said, "what now?"

"You're under arrest for murder," Malik said without even pretending to joke around, kissing might have been nice but Altair was still a serial murderer. "Make it easy for me and come quietly."

Altair's mouth tightened and the next thing Malik knew was Altair was digging his fingers into his kidney painfully to the point Malik thought he was going to black out. There was the silver flash of the knife even as Malik crumpled and he found himself on his knees, gasping from the pain he didn't even know he could have there. Altair stood above him, his wicked knife out and pressed against Malik's throat. "Sorry," Altair said in a soft tone, "I can't let you do that."

"Then what? You going to kill me?" Malik asked, unafraid. He hadn't been scared when Capone had threatened him, he hadn't been scared since the War. Even with a knife tip against Malik's throat he couldn't find it in him to be afraid or when he felt a droplet of blood bead up on his neck and slid down the curve of skin. Some would call that bravery, others stupidity. Malik would call it understanding. He knew, on some level, that Altair wouldn't hurt him, or if he did Malik would have to do something stupid to force his hand.

"I don't want to," Altair said, his hand unwavering. "But I can't let you arrest me either."

"I know what you did," Malik said. "You've killed people-

"So have you," Altair said. "We both killed bad people, yet you're the war hero and I'm the criminal," he turned his wrist, the knife cut a bit more into his skin, drawing more blood, Altair's eyes were trained on the track down his throat it was making.

"It's different," Malik said.

"How?" Altair asked, though seemed more complacent and mocking than actually curious.

"I was ordered to fight."

"So am I," Altair said. Malik frowned, "You don't know everything Malik," he said.

"Then enlighten me," Malik swallowed a bit.

"Why should I? You want to take me in."

"You're going to kill me anyway, what's it matter?"

Altair frowned slightly, "I really don't want to," he said. "I'd probably do something stupid if you made me kill you."

"Stupid like what?" Malik asked.

"Probably kill myself. What's the point of sticking around if you're dead?" Malik had not expected Altair to say that. "Life is empty," he said, "so when we kill we take nothing of value," it sounded like he was reciting something someone had told him. "I used to believe that."

"Used to?"

"Before I met you," Altair said. "I was empty. I'd be empty again if I had to kill you."

"Altair," Malik said, "put the knife away."

"Are you going to take me away?" Altair asked him.

"Tell me why I shouldn't. I just need an excuse," not that he was lying.

"Every person I killed was a leech on the body of humanity, sucking at its lifeblood. Mobsters, murderers, embezzlers, thieves and turn coats. I'm a janitor cleaning up the waste humanity is too scared to touch. No one I hurt was an innocent."

"Except Anthony," Malik said.

Altair frowned, "So you'd stay, so you'd care. I didn't want to. You forced my hand."

"So it's my fault Anthony died?"

"Yes," Altair said, "if you weren't so... good," Altair sighed, sounding pained. "I couldn't let you leave."

"Why?"

"Curious," Altair said, "I've never worked with the police on one of my own cases. Boredom, I sat around doing nothing a lot during the school because I'm better than those white men who get by on their money. Fascination, who ever heard of a brown detective eh?" he asked

"You used me," Malik said.

"Only at first," Altair said, "it was a clinical study, to see if I could do it, do what I was trained to do," he paused, "I wasn't expecting what happened."

"And what did happen?" Malik asked.

Altair stepped up closer to him, and while he didn't take the knife away he did reach down to stroke Malik's face with his free hand, "I found something else more enthralling than murder," he said, actually sounding surprised with himself. "I'm a terrible, broken, thing Malik. I was born without empathy, a hollow boy on the inside; empty. I started killing birds and mice when I was six to feel better, my father noticed."

"And what did he do?"

"Taught me to kill bigger things," Altair said softly. "For the brief moment when I can feel someone die, I feel like I'm not so empty inside," he wasn't looking at Malik now. "I feel like I'm normal and not this husk," he focused on Malik again, "Then you came. Everyone has always seen me as something strange, an anomaly, something new and exotic to see, a plaything, something nice to look at but you didn't really want to get to close, a freak. You didn't. You thought I was amazing," Altair still seemed stunned by this, like he still couldn't believe Malik thought him anything but queer. "Even when you got to know me you didn't think I was weird-

"Rather, I liked the weirdness," Malik chimed in.

Altair smiled slightly and stroked Malik's cheek, "You didn't treat me like a sideshow freak," Altair said. "I thought the only thing that could make me feel was when I was hurting someone. Then I met you," he took the knife away to cup Malik's face, the flat of the blade still dangerously close to Malik's face though, "I didn't know I could fall in love with anyone," he said it like a secret. "So please don't make me do something stupid."

"You going to let me up?" Malik asked.

"You going to throw me in prison?"

"You're going to let me up and we're going to talk," Malik said very calmly.

"I'm not going to prison, Malik," Altair said.

"I'm not going to put you there, let someone else do that," Malik said. Altair let go of his face and put the knife away before offering his hand to Maik. Malik grabbed it and Altair helped him up. Malik dusted off his knees and pressed his hand to his neck, it came away bloody. "Wonderful," he muttered to himself, staring at his bloody fingers. Then he looked a Altair, who was standing a few feet away, watching him, his face painfully, terrifyingly, blank.

"Now what?" Altair asked.

"First off," Malik said, "Who the hell is that?" he pointed at the man who was still there against the crates.

"The man who killed someone in St. Louis," Altair said, "I found out about him when I went back to Chicago to look for you. Very insulting. So I tracked him down, he was stalking someone at a speakeasy when I found him, very sloppy."

"And you didn't kill him?" Malik asked.

"I brought him as a peace offering," Altair said, "and a scapegoat. If I don't go to prison someone needs to."

"Hmm," Malik agreed. "He's our St. Louis killer?"

"Yes. The murders were supposed to stop when I left."

"What are you even doing here?" Malik asked, "I thought you were going home."

Altair frowned slightly, "I got to New York and was on my ship when I realized I couldn't leave."

"Why?"

"Because I liked me better when I was with you," Altair said, sounding small and young for a moment, "I'm a better person when I'm with you. So I left, bought another ticket and went back to Chicago. I asked around the police department for where you'd gone and they told me St. Louis because someone had killed someone there the same way I did. I followed you here."

"And what if I'd gone back to L.A.?"

"I would have followed you there too," Altair said.

"Huh," Malik said and wiped at his neck and put his thumb on the cut to try and stop the bleeding. "So here we are, what do you want to happen next?"

Altair blushed faintly as he said, "Honestly I want you to kiss me again."

"I can do that," Malik said easily and grabbed Altair by the front of his shirt and pulled him over to him, kissing him deeply. "Now," Malik said softly, nearly breathing the same warm air as Altair, "We're going to deal with him first," Malik said, eyes flicking over Altair's shoulder, "Then you're going to tell me everything. Understand?" Altair nodded. "Good," he kissed Altair briefly before letting him go. "Who is he?" Malik asked.

Altair handed him his wallet, "Johnson Jackson, citizen of St. Louis," he said going over to Johnson and making him sit up properly. Johnson was unconscious. "I interrogated him before you arrived."

"And what did Mr. Jackson have to say of interest?" Malik asked, looking through the man's wallet.

"When I told him who I was he seemed impressed. He said he liked my work. I told him I hate copycats. He said he was just doing good work."

"Roughed him up a bit," Malik said.

"He didn't want to come quietly," Altair said, sitting on the crate. "I persuaded him."

Malik looked Johnson over, "You beat him pretty bad," Malik said.

"I convinced him it was in his best interest, that when the police came, to sign the confession to all the murders," Altair said, a pleased look on his face.

"Oh you did now?" Malik asked.

"I did," Altair said.

"What if I was going to send you to prison?" Malik asked him, though he didn't plan on it.

"Well... you wouldn't leave here," Altair said, "none of us would."

"Hmm," Malik looked back at Johnson, "Go find a phone, get the police and an ambulance," he said.

"Ambulance?" Altair asked, slightly confused.

"Yeah."

"Why?" Altair asked.

Malik reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, "He might need one," he said. Altair's eyes got huge but he jumped off the crate. Malik didn't use his gun very often, he didn't like to shoot it and unless he had to preferred to avoid it. Malik checked the bullets he had and turned off the safety. He crouched down and after a few moments roused Johnson, taking off his gag.

"Wh-who are you?" moaned painfully.

"I'm the police," Malik said, "you're under arrest for murder of the first degree."

"Where's that other guy that beat the shit out of me? He gonna get it too?"

"No."

"He killed people too ya bull," they groaned softly.

"I have back up coming. They're going to take you down to the station, fix you up a bit and make you sign a confession for the murders in St. Louis and Chicago. You're going to sign it."

"That guy isn't here right?"

"No."

"Then fuck you I ain't signing shit."

"You sign it, or I'm going to shoot you," Malik said, Johnson paled. "If you're lucky I'll pick a spot you can recover from. If you aren't I'll shoot you in the head just like I did to Germans and the Ottomans," Malik said, his voice level and cold. "Do we have an understanding?"

"Yessir," he said, swallowing.

"Good," Malik said, "and you're going to say nothing. Not that it would help though. I'm a detective and you're a peice of shit on my boot. Try anything funny-

"And you'll shoot me," he said.

"I will," Malik agreed. He looked over his shoulder to see if Altair was back yet. On cue Altair opened the door and came in, "They coming?" he asked.

"Yeah, I said I heard shots fired," Altair said.

"Good, cut him loose," Malik pushed himself to his feet.

"You're joking," Altair said.

"Nope. Cut him loose. He won't be going anywhere," Malik trained the muzzle of the pistol at the man's calf and fired. Johnson screamed and thrashed to want to grab his leg. Altair's eyes gleamed with unrestrained interest. He moved forward and took out his knife, he cut the bindings holding Johnson in place and the man grabbed his leg, putting pressure on where he'd been shot, sobbing. "Go throw that out," Malik said and pulled out his cigarette case. Altair nodded and went to get rid of it. Malik lit up and then went to get his hat where Altair had pushed it off, he put it back on and went outside. Johnson wouldn't be going anywhere and the police were coming.

\--

Malik had told Altair to wait for him at the hotel he was staying at while he went back to the station to sort out the mess that was Johnson Jackson. He didn't anticipate it taking so long though and didn't arrive back to the hotel until late. There was taking Johnson to the hospital to get the bullet in his leg removed and then Malik had to give his statement about what had happened. The official story was that Johnson had lured him out there to kill him, there had been a fight and Malik had shot him before backup arrived. Malik had had Altair rough him up a bit to make it look more authentic. Once Johnson woke they talked to him and he gave the same story as Malik and signed the confession for all the murders in Chicago and St. Louis. Once he recovered from his leg injury a bit more he was going to get shipped off to jail until his hearing and sentencing.

He hadn't meant to take so long, but there was a lot of paperwork and Borgia had debriefed Malik and told him he was going back to L.A. to get the hell out of his hair. He didn't need or want brown men on his force.

The lobby was empty when he arrived and he didn't blame Altair for leaving and finding someplace to stay that night. He went upstairs to his room and unlocked the door with a tired sigh. He wanted a drink but there was none in his room, so he'd be going with water. Just what he wanted. Not.

There was a light on his room, which was surprising, and once he'd closed the door and actually looked in he saw the reason. Altair was laying on Malik's bed, shoes off and neatly to the side, reading a book with a skull on the cover. He looked over the top of his book when Malik closed the door. "How'd you get in here?" Malik asked him.

"Picked the lock," Altair said, dog-earing and closing his book, sitting up.

Malik came into the room and glanced around quickly, there was a soft bag next to Altair's shoes that seemed full of clothes and the remains of room service on the side table. "You and your damn room service," Malik said.

"What?" Altair grinned slightly, "I was hungry and you weren't here."

Malik sighed and sat on his bed, "Sorry it took so long, lots of run around."

"It's okay," Altair said, sitting indian style. "But it's taken care of?" he asked, surprisingly innocent.

"Yeah," Malik said and then it dawned on him what he'd done and rubbed his eyes, "I just aided a serial murderer," he groaned.

Altair leaned over to him and kissed his cheek, "Worth it though," he whispered into Malik's ear.

Malik grunted, "It's been a long day," Altair nodded, "I know I said I wanted you to explain, but I'm exhausted."

"I'm not going anywhere," Altair said, "we talk in the morning... over breakfast," he added hopefully.

Malik chuckled, "Okay," he said, "I'm going to go shower," and he got up from bed.

"Can I come?" Altair asked.

Malik looked down at him, "Not this time," he said and Altair frowned, but didn't complain as Malik went and took a shower. He stayed in there a long time and shaved when he got out, taking his time. When he left the bathroom and went to put on his pajamas he saw that the light had been turned off and there was a hump in his bed. Malik dressed in silence before going to sit on his bed, Altair was on his side, sleeping. Malik sat in the darkness and watched him for a long time and didn't feel guilty about him there, sleeping in Malik's bed, while another man took the fall for all the people Altair had killed.

He moved and slid under the covers, laying down next to Altair. The young man shifted in his sleep, made a sleepy noise and shifted a bit but didn't seem to wake. Malik was still looking at him, his eyes on the back of Altair's neck. A moment passed.

"You going to sleep with me or what?" Altair grumbled in a half asleep voice.

"Hmm?" Malik asked.

A hand appeared and grabbed Malik's far hand, pulling it so that Malik had to roll onto his side and found himself chest to back with Altair. Altair held his arm against his chest with his. "Goodnight Malik," Altair said in soft Arabic and then Maik knew he was asleep by the deep, even breaths. Malik tried not to feel bewildered before he hugged Altair tightly to him and pressed his face into his shoulder. Sleep came eventually.

\--

The waitress poured Malik his second cup of coffee and put another orange juice down next to Altair's plate. The table was still empty of food but they could hear the sounds of food being prepared in the kitchen in the back. Malik added sugar to his coffee, and Altair played with his orange juice until the waitress left. They were in a little diner, at the back booth, away from most of the other patrons. It was early, but after the normal breakfast rush so they were one of the few people in the entire building. Altair had ordered the big breakfast special they had; eggs, toast, beef sausage- and yes they had to be beef sausage, no pork- hash browns, and some pancakes. Malik had just gotten some eggs and toast.

It was normal.

"What are you thinking?" Malik asked, stirring his coffee.

"What I'm always thinking," Altair said, looking fro his orange juice, to Malik, and then back.

"Which is?" Malik asked.

Altair looked up at Malik from under his brows, "I keep my mind busy," he said, "it's why I like medical things, it's complicated. I think about that."

"All the time?"

"No," Altair looked back down at his orange juice.

"What else?"

Altair took a deep breath, "You," he said very softly, "and when I can't distract myself-" he paused, looked away, out the window.

"We agreed this morning you would answer every question I had," Malik said and took a sip of coffee.

Altair bit his lips then looked back around, at the people in the restaurant. "I could kill everyone in this place in a minute," he said evenly, looking at Malik again. "I see how I would do it. Each action before I just walk out like nothing happened and you'd never know I was there. That's what I think about."

Malik licked his lips, "What's stopping you?"

"Wisdom, that I shouldn't. Obedience, that I'm not on orders. Training, to only kill on command."

"But you don't want to?" Altair groaned and hung his head, running his hand through his hair and over the back of his head, "Answer me," Malik said. Altair was hunched over the table, arm wrapped over his head, chin hidden behind his other arm.

Altair peeked up at Malik, "I want to watch the light in someone's eyes go out," Altair said softly. "I'm sick and broken. A normal person doesn't want this. I crave it like an addict."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"Obedience," Altair said. "I was trained to only kill on command and only to kill people who are bad. My grandfather, my father, they told me killing the innocent it wrong, that it leaves a bitter taste."

"Does it?"

"Life is empty," Altair said softly uncurling from himself a bit to sit more upright, hands back on the table..

"No it isn't."

Altair blinked at Malik, "It was," and Altair slid his foot up next to Malik's. "I tried to fill it a cup at a time, and then it started to rain and overflowed," he smiled slightly.

"You still want to kill these people," Malik said.

"I always want to kill people. It's an urge, like an addiction to take a hit. Like how you smoke. It's hard to quit," he paused, "But we all have ways to fight our urges."

"How do you fight the urge?" Malik asked.

"I read," Altair said, shrugging, "Or I did."

"Did?"

"When I get the urge now I..." he paused and blushed, "I think about you," and Malik felt his cheeks redden a bit as well. In a way it was probably one of the sweetest things someone had ever told him. To prevent a destructive behavior, a very bad destructive behavior, Altair thought of Malik. In effect Malik was Altair's fix.

The waitress returned and set their plates down, said to enjoy their meal, asked if they needed anything- no, they were fine- and left. Altair started with his eggs. "You said you were trained," Altair nodded, "Who trained you?"

"My father," Altair said, "and then when he... died my grandpa got someone else to take over."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did they train you?"

Altair took a few bites of his eggs, Malik drank his coffee, "Because that's what we do."

"Who?"

"My family," Altair sighed and stared down at his plate, fork poised. "I have... a very large extended family. There's a group, my family, other families, we all work together, for a common goal," he took another bite of his eggs. "We all share blood, in some way," he'd finished his eggs and was moving on to the hash browns, "Would you eat?" he demanded, "It's so weird talking to you and you not eating while I am."

"Keep going," Malik said and picked up his knife and fork to cut open his eggs.

"We train to fight and to keep peace," Altair said around his hash browns, "The heads of each family decides who does what and they talk to each other. My grandpa is the head of my family. He decided I'd be a fist."

"What's that-

"It means I go out and kill people to preserve peace. My father was a fist."

"So you all have different jobs?" Malik asked.

"Yeah. It's like... a corporation, each person has the thing they do in their life. I was trained to be the world's janitor. Clean up the messes of humanity," he'd finished his hash browns now too.

"So they trained you to kill people?"

"Kill them better," Altair said, looking at him and it was like looking at the eyes of a snake. "I already could kill things, they taught me how to be efficient, how to do it easily. I'm good at it."

"If you're a janitor what are you doing in college?"

Altair sniffed, took a sip of his orange juice, "Everyone has a plan set out when they first enter the family business. When you're someone like me you need another skill, a skill valuable to the people who would hunt you. It's easier to run if you know what's going on inside," he poured syrup all over the rest of his food. "I have a cousin, direct cousin, who's a kriminalist. He works with his police department, helps them, and knows what they know. Other janitors become cops themselves, some of the cleanest cops you've ever seen. I thought at first we were related when you told me you didn't work for or on the mob's wishes."

"Yeah, we're not," Malik said, Altair laughed slightly and started working on his pancakes. Malik had finished his eggs by now.

"No, we aren't," he agreed. "But I thought at first, maybe," he shrugged.

"What does your family do?" Malik asked, buttering his toast now.

"We watch, we wait, we build, we act and react, and, when required, we make sure the world doesn't fall to corruption."

"Then what were you doing in Chicago?"

"It was my year abroad," Altair shrugged. "I was given names, and I was supposed to kill them. I did," one pancake was gone. "Easy. Each time my overseer gave me a name I went out, stalked my target, and killed him, however I wanted."

"Who's your overseer? Did he hurt you?" Altair hesitated there, "Altair," he hissed, "Was he the one who hurt you?"

Altair shrugged, sitting back, away from his plate, "It wasn't a big deal," he said, "I'm used to getting hit," he put his hands in his lap. "He did though. Who he is doesn't matter, he was doing his job, like I wasn't."

"Come again?"  
"I'm still learning, meaning I should just do as told and not more. But I was doing more. I had worked myself into the case. My overseer hit me when I kept disobeying him, kept helping you."

"Where's that sonuvabitch now?" Malik growled.

"Back in Chicago. It doesn't matter."

"Altair he-

"Malik," Altair leaned forward with a hiss, "I like to kill people. You think I care about a few love taps?" his eyes were fierce.

Malik frowned, "Fine," he grumbled. He wouldn't bring it up again. "So you broke the rules and got punished?"

Altair nodded and the waitress appeared again. She filled Malik's coffee and asked how they were doing. Maik said they were fine. She left. "What else do you want to know?"

"The speakeasy slaughter. How'd you do it?"

"My cousin helped," Altair licked his lips, "Desmond did, and his girl, they're part of it, different families though. She got a job there, serving drinks, marked the tables, me and Desmond did the thing."

"The double wound?"

"Lucy's small," Desmond said, "She doesn't have the shoulder muscles to kill a guy one handed like we can. So she uses two. One to hold them in place, smaller, and the other to rip open their throats."

"How'd you get my hat?"

"You left it on my skull in the school lab," Altair said. "I was just going to give it back but-"

"But?"

Altair's bottom lip was between his teeth, "I wanted you to know," he said. "I wanted you to catch me. I thought you'd remember where you left it and figure it out. You didn't."

"That's why you left those notes."

"Yeah," he bobbed his head. "I wanted you to know, so you'd stop me."

"Why? I thought you liked it."

"I do," Altair licked his lips, "but..." he looked out the window briefly, "I wanted you to know so I wouldn't have to anymore. I didn't want that hit anymore. I liked yours better."

"You could have told me."

"Like you'd have believed me," Altair said. "I know what you think of me. You think I'm a kid with a big brain. Something you want to protect, like you wanted to protect your little I'd told you you would have denied it and would have thought I was crazy. I couldn't have you think I was crazy. Everyone already... already thinks I'm crazy."

"The manor," Malik said, "Why did it change?"

"I was frustrated," Altair said. "You weren't seeing even when I tried so hard. I thought you were being purposefully oblivious, that you knew but didn't say anything. I was getting tired of explaining myself to my overseer, of fighting with Desmond about my actions. I was angry that I was leaving. I didn't know what I was going to do when I left Chicago. I didn't want to be empty again. I don't normally... lose control," his voice had gotten very soft. "I don't... have a good idea of how emotions work, I'm not used to them. I don't know how to... deal with anger."

"So you dealt with it by murdering seven people," Malik said.

"Yes," Altair said and didn't seem sorry about it either. "I felt better," he shrugged.

"You're... odd," Malik said and he saw the defensiveness in Altair's eyes, "But then, so am I." Malik pressed his hands together. The waitress came around and asked if they were done, she took their plates after Altair snagged a sausage from his and asked if he wanted more orange juice. No, he said, Malik could tell he just wanted her to go away.

"Come over here," Malik beckoned and patted the seat. After a second Altair got up and went to sit next to him. "You said your overseer gave you names?" Malik asked.

"Yeah," Altair said, "who needed to go is decided by the nearest family, they tell the overseers and they tell the fist where to hit."

"You don't have one now."

"What?"

"And you only kill on command?" Malik asked, putting his hand on Altair's thigh.

"Usually," Altair said softly. "It's different now though."

"How?"

"You know," Altair looked at him out of the corner of his eye, "You're not allowed to tell anyone without permission. If anyone knew... I'd be in a lot of trouble. It's worse cause you're a cop."

"So what's that mean?"

"It means I don't have to listen to an overseer," Altair said, "I picked you instead of my family when I decided to get off that boat and didn't go home. I can basically do what I want."

"And what do you want?"

Altair looked at him and looked a lot like if they weren't in a public place he'd have kissed Malik, "To get my fix," he said.

"So then you're coming back to L.A. with me?"

"I'd like to," Altair said sheepishly.

"You can. But I don't want to see you pick up that knife unless I say ever again," Malik said and squeezed Altair's leg.

"Okay," Altair said, slightly breathless and for some reason seemed flustered.

"No knives and no killing unless I tell you to," Altair nodded and shifted next to Malik a little. "If you need a 'fix' you come to me, we'll work it out. Understand?" Altar nodded again quickly and the waitress returned, Malik asked for the check and she vanished again. "You okay?" Malik asked him since he was still flustered.

"I uh..." he flushed, "might be a bit hard."

Malik blinked in surprise, "Seriously."

"Yeah," Altair said weakly, like he knew it was ridiculous, "I like when you tell me what to do I guess. Uh..."

Malik chuckled and patted his shoulder, "Think unsexy thoughts," he advised.

"Like what?" Altair squeaked, man for a cold blooded, trained, killer Altair could sure act his age and a virgin, even if he wasn't anymore.

"Mmmm, your grandfather, naked," Malik said and Altair gave a pained groan.

"I didn't need that mental image thank you," Altair scowled at him.

The waitress brought the check and Malik dug his wallet from his jacket. "It going down?"

"Yeah," Altair said weakly as Malik put the money on the table including the tip. The waitress got the check as Malik finished his coffee. "Okay... It's gone," Altair said, insanely embarrassed by what had just happened.

Malik leaned over the few inches to speak into Altair's ear, "I'll order you around right back at the room," and laughed when Altair very well leaped from the booth. He followed after Altair, grabbing his hat as the kid scowled at him, pulled on his jacket and stalked out of the diner in a huff. Malik followed after him with an amused grin.


	12. The Man is a Wildfire

Malik had, somehow in the short time, forgotten the feel of his hands on Altair's skin. Not in the meaning that he'd really forgotten but more in that it was so much better than he remembered it was. Both his hands were up under Altair's t-shirt along his bowed back, hiking it up. Altair was lying mostly on top of him, kissing him slowly, like he was savoring Malik's lips. Malik was enjoying the unblemished nature of Altair's skin, one without bruises that hurt or made Altair twitch or squirm away from him.

Altair pulled back, his golden eyes warm, and licked his lips. Maybe he was going to say something, maybe he wasn't, Malik didn't know or care, he just leaned his head up and kissed Altair again, drawing him back. Altair moaned softly into his mouth and shifted to bury both hands into Malik's hair, running them through it, turning it into an even more of a mess than it already was. Malik was never going to get his hair to lay flat ever again with Altair around. He would willingly allow it.

They both shot up when there was a knock at the door. "Did you order room service?" Malik asked, one arm still around Altair's waist, staring at the door.

"No," Altair said, equally confused. "It might be the cops," he said, raising his brows at Malik.

Malik snorted, "Who is it?" he called.

"It's me, open up," Ezio called back.

"Is it important?"

"Kinda, yeah."

Malik groaned softly and thumped back on the bed, "Okay, be right there," and he gently pushed Altair off him.

"What's that?" Altair asked, putting his shirt back to rights.

"My kriminalist."

"I'm your kriminalist," Altair pouted at him.

"My official kriminalist," Malik said with a slight grin and went to the door, "Just stay back there until I tell you. He doesn't know you're here," and he opened the door. Ezio was standing there, dressed like he was about to leave. "Hey," he said.

"Who're you talking to?" Ezio asked, craning around over Malik's shoulder to try and see, but the room was built in such a way that you couldn't see the bed from the door. "You got a girl in there?" Ezio smirked and gave Malik a devious look over the top of his glasses.

Malik rolled his eyes, "No," Malik said, "What do you want?"

"Wanna go out? I found a nice place a few blocks down. Checked it out, they have the kind of bourbon you like. The not watered down kind," he smirked.

"Ezi-

"Bring your doll," Ezio winked at him.

Malik rubbed his temple with a slightly bowed head, "I don't have a girl in here. Just a friend," he said.

"Bring 'em then. More the merrier."

"They don't drink, it'd be uncomfortable for them."

"Psssh, like that stopped anyone," Ezio said.

Malik sighed, "Ezio, do you ever think about anything people want other than you?" Malik asked him.

"Oh don't be a spoiled sport. I mean you cracked your case, you might as well be a national hero. We should go drinking in celebration at the very least and-

Confused as to why Ezio had suddenly stopped talking Malik looked over his shoulder, since Ezio's eyes were fixed behind Malik. "And just what are you doing here?" Ezio asked in a suddenly very cool voice. Altair had been half hiding behind a wall, clearly curious who Malik was talking to, then Ezio had seen him and called him out.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Altair said, still sort of hanging around the edge of the wall, his eyes boring into Ezio like he wanted to set Ezio on fire.

"I'm supposed to be here. What's your excuse?" Ezio asked.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Malik had to interject because he was confused.

"Ezio's a first cousin," Altair said, "He's the one I told you was a kriminalist."

"You told him about me?" Ezio asked and put his hand into the pocket of his spring jacket. "What else did you tell him huh? What are you even doing here? You should be in the middle of the Atlantic by now," Ezio had a deep frown on his face aging him ten years.

"Decided to stay."

"What. Did. You. Tell. Him?" Ezio said and Malik had a very bad feeling about what was going to happen next. He knew Altair was trained to fight and kill and then eventually worm his way into a police department, because it was easier to escape the cops when you were a cop. He said he was a fist. Was... Ezio one of those too?

"Everything," Altair said slowly. "Now take your hand out of your pocket before we both do something reckless," his tone was icy to the point Malik was sure the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

"You know I can't do that, Altair," Ezio said and Malik lost track of what was going on for a moment as everything moved way too quickly.

He was shoved out of the way from behind, into a wall and was momentarily stunned and he heard a brief scuffle before he could refocus. Altair had Ezio pinned to a wall, chest first, one hand around Ezio's wrist which held a pocket knife with a three inch blade and Malik swallowed. His other hand had Ezio's other arm twisted up behind his back. "What did I just say?" Altair hissed and thumped Ezio back into the wall when the older man tried to buck him off.

"I'm really confused," Malik said because he could admit when he was.

"Me too!" Ezio cried. "Altair get the hell off me."

"Not on your life. How many knives do you keep on you?"

"Let me go."

"How. Many?" and to make a further point he shoved Ezio hard into the wall.

"Two," Ezio ground out from between his teeth, "the other is in my back pocket." Altair twisted Ezio's wrist holding the knife and Ezio dropped it, then he grabbed the other knife from Ezio's back pocket. Only once Ezio was weaponless did Altair let him go, scooping up the first knife in one hand and folding it back up.

Ezio shrugged off the wall and Malik was very aware that Altair was standing between him and Ezio. It was almost comical. It was like a lightweight going against a heavyweight, Altair lean and thin, Ezio decked with broad muscle and shoulders like a giant. "Going to kill me cousin?" Ezio asked him with absolute nonchalance.

"Don't make me," Altair said cooly. Though they both seemed relaxed Malik could feel the tension between them like a coiled spring.

"You're not supposed to tell," Ezio said, "that's the point. You can't tell the fucking cops."

"I know."

"And yet you still did it."

"He knew already."

"This is why you're still in school. You do stupid things like this," Ezio reprimanded him and Malik couldn't help but think Ezio sounded a lot like Malik had when Kadar was still alive.

"It isn't stupid."

Ezio scowled over Altair's shoulder at Malik. "Not that I don't like you Malik, but you have to understand why guys like you need to die."

"Touch him and I will cut your fucking throat," Altair growled and then Ezio's knife was in his hand, sharp side out, drawing Ezio's attention back to him.

"You'd kill your Family for some Stranger?" Ezio asked.

"Boys," Malik said and they both looked at him. "Maybe you should bring this inside the room so the hotel staff doesn't see you? I don't fancy having a massacre to clean up."

There was a pause and then Altair took a few steps back into the room so Ezio could actually step inside and close the door. "I'm surprised you took this so well Malik," Ezio said, ignoring Altair now.

"Altair's a good kid," Malik said, "and not like I haven't thought about dealing out some proper justice to some gangsters."

Ezio frowned at Malik, then frowned at Altair and said something in Italian. Malik knew the basics of five languages, but Italian wasn't one of them. Altair understood though. Well apparently so since Ezio was a first cousin. His words both agitated and pissed Altair off, whatever he was saying. Malik could tell by how hard Altair was holding the knife. Malik didn't know any Italian but he was pretty sure 'no' still meant the same thing in about six languages, and Altair said it with a fury.

"Don't do this," Ezio said.

"It's done," Altair said tightly. "I know where I stand with our Family. Where are you?"

Ezio looked from Altair to Malik and then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Can I talk to him? Alone?"

"No-

"Yes," Malik spoke over Altair.

"Malik-

"I'm not helpless," Malik told Altair who looked very worried and like he wanted to protest but Malik just arched his brows at him.

Altair growled irritably to himself and turned back to Ezio, "Fine. If I come back here and he's anything less than how he was when I left I'm going to cut you into tiny pieces," he threatened, walking over to Ezio, scowling at him and then walking around him. He left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

The silence between Malik and Ezio was huge. "You sure don't how to be uninteresting," Ezio said after a stretch. Malik chuckled to himself. "I really don't want to kill you."

"Please don't, I rather like life," Malik said, putting his hands into his pockets. "And I think you do too."

Ezio sighed, "Yes, I do, and I know my cousin would happily send me to an early grave if I did anything to you," he paused, "And just what did you do to instill such loyalty?" he took a few steps closer to Malik. "I've known Altair since he was a boy and trust me when I say getting him to behave is a challenge."

Malik refrained from smirking, "You just have to treat him right," Malik said, "Poor thing was neglected," and for some reason Ezio flinched. Ezio took another step towards him and Malik took half a step back. He wasn't afraid of Ezio, but he was wary. Rightfully so. He'd seen what Altair could do and Ezio was six years older than him, and had six more years of experience. He had every reason to be wary.

"I'm not going to hurt you Malik," Ezio said, sounding offended.

"I have a healthy appreciation for what you people can do," Malik said evenly.

"Fair enough. Wanna explain to me how you found my cousin in the first place?"

"He was in school in Chicago. I needed a kriminalist, what is there to tell?"

"Who told you?"

"One of his teachers. I was honestly expecting some white boy with too much money. Instead I get a brainiac." Ezio scowled at him. "What?"

"You understand why I feel I need to kill you right?" Ezio asked him.

"I do," Malik said, "But you won't."

"I won't," Ezio agreed. "Not now anyway."

"Not ever."

"And how do you figure that?" Ezio asked.

"Altair's coming back with us to L.A."

Ezio seemed honestly shocked by that, "Come again? Why? He needs to go home."

"What home?" Malik asked right back, "A home where he's an outsider even among you all? Or one where he gets the shit beat outta him? It's better-

"Malik you have no idea what you're talking about or getting yourself into."

"I have an idea," Malik said.

Ezio took a step and a half towards him, they were only about three feet apart now. "My cousin isn't like normal men," he said.  
"I know."

"He's bloodthirsty."

"I know."

"He's broken."

"I know."

"He's twisted."

"No he isn't," Malik said irritably, "He just wants someone to pay attention to him. Kid is starved for attention and sensation, any sensation."

"Altair is like a wildfire, Malik."

Malik smirked, "I know," he said, "and I'm the rain. If you're worried he's going to act out I can tell you he's not. If you think I don't know what I'm getting into, you're wrong. I've seen him, on both sides of a case. You know the things I see in the evidence."

"You didn't know it was him till recently though."

"I didn't," Malik agreed, "but I knew him anyway."

"You're crazy."

"Then we're perfect for each other," and Malik laughed.

Ezio frowned at him, "You know what you're in for."

"I do."

"What if one day you can't control him-

"He's a man Ezio," Malik frowned at him. "Not a car, not a machine, not a plane or a tank or a zeppelin. I think I'm the only one who's treated him like one in a long time. He's not as wild as you think, I promise."

Ezio took a breath, "Fine," he said. "Altair asked that I not tell our Family about you."

"If they do they'll kill me?"

"Yes," Ezio said. "You're a threat, because you know, because you got the only son of a very powerful branch to just... leave. We don't allow outsiders."

"But you won't tell?"

Ezio sighed and dislodged his glasses when he went to rub his face, "No," he groaned, "I won't," he wiped his glasses off on his shirt. "Every instinct is telling me otherwise. But I honestly do love my cousin even if he's a little shit head. So, I won't."

"Good," Malik said.

Ezio put his glasses back on, "Great. Can we go get that drink now?" he huffed.

"Just like that?" Malik asked.

"Why the fuck not? More normal than anything else I've heard, said, or done in the past half hour."

Malik grinned a little, "Still friends then?"

"Clearly against my better judgement!" and they both shared a light laugh.

"Okay," Malik said, "lets go," and he put his shoes on and opened the door. Altair was leaning with his back against it and stumbled when Malik opened it. "Put your shoes on," he ordered.  
"What? Why? What happened?" Altair looked between the two of them, confused.

"We're going out for a drink. Now put your shoes on and leave those damn things in the room," he pointed at the knives. Altair opened his mouth to protest, "Altair," was all Malik said.

For a second Altair's lips pursed, then he slid past both of the older men and went inside. "I will admit though," Ezio said as they waited for Altair.

"What?" Malik asked as Ezio pulled out his cigarette case and offered one to Malik.

"Altair listening the first time is a novelty I'll never get tired of," Ezio said as Malik took a cigarette. "Kinda nice," he took out his lighter, lit his cigarette, Malik put his cigarette behind his ear for when he had bourbon in front of him.

Then Altair came out of the room, pulling on his leather jacket as he did. He closed the door and looked at them both with his big golden eyes, "So, where are we going?" Altair asked, seemingly totally at ease with Ezio now.

Ezio had his cigarette hanging off his lip as he wrapped one arm around Altair's shoulders and one arm around Malik's. "To go have some fun lil cos," he said as he led them down towards the elevator.


End file.
